


Truths From Dreams

by Dirthenera



Series: Thenera Lavellan [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fade Sex, Inquisitor from our world, Kinda AU?, Slow Burn, Solas POV, Solavellan, Solavellan Hell, Thenera Lavellan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2019-11-05 05:25:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 63
Words: 78,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17912825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dirthenera/pseuds/Dirthenera
Summary: Solas' POV to Secrets From Dreams, with some of the same scenes and some new.How would Solas react to find the one bearing his mark knows far more than she should? Not only that, but despite the anchor in her palm, seems to have no connection to The Fade? How long will her whispered hints go before they lead to unease, and how will he handle such a puzzle? Can he resist it? As surely as he claims knowledge from his dreams, she claims the same. Knowledge from the future, instead of knowledge of the past. How much does she know? How much can she?





	1. Faded

He had done this. Perhaps, not directly, but his people, his actions, had led to this. He contained his frustration as he looked down at her, this frail echo of an elf, indelibly marked by his magic.

Truly, it was a miracle she lived. How had she lived? The anchor crackled in her palm, long fingers twitching, and he soothed it with some of his mana. He could only do so much with it trapped in the palm of a mortal, and he didn’t have the strength as of yet to remove it. Once he recovered his orb. Though, he could not until the Breach was closed. She was their only hope, this fragile creature. Everything about her seemed effervescent. Her skin so pale he could see blue veins tracing their way under the surface, white silver hair a tangled mess. And of course, the Vallaslin. At least, if she must bear slave markings, they were of Mythal, traced in a strange shade of berry pink.

She was a mystery, and if she didn’t wake, doom. The veil could not be brought down safely with such a tear, it would jeopardize both worlds too greatly.

He had tried consulting his friends in The Fade, but the breach had disrupted both worlds so thoroughly they had scattered to the winds. Is this what it would be like when the Veil came down? How many years of chaos must he be responsible for?

The wisp made a noise in her sleep. There was one thing he had not tried yet. He could attempt waking her from the other side. The anchor was bright enough to guide him to her dreams, though he did not know her yet to sense her personal energy. 

He laid down on the bedroll beside her and slipped into The Fade. The breach had twisted everything, and as he walked once familiar paths, now tainted by fear and despair, he saw what perhaps mortal mages saw. It wrenched his heart, but he put the feeling aside for now. It wouldn’t do to feel such things here, especially when spirits could be twisted so easily from their purpose. 

He focused on the pull of the anchor, following the thread to her. And found… Nothing? The place she should be was empty, and the anchor odd besides. It felt more as it should if she was awake, but she was not. Was she too far gone?

He roused himself quickly. If she was to die, he must be far away.


	2. Pride to Come

“Quickly, before more come through!”

He grabbed her hand and lifted it to the rift, sparking the anchor to connect, to teach her how to use it. Despite all odds, she was alive, awake, and fighting. Her eyes snapped to his, and his stomach dropped. They were bright, far too bright, and the color of The Fade. Her mouth dropped open and her brows inclined in shock. Or… Awe? There was much swirling in them, moving too fast to name. He pulled his gaze from her as the rift closed, and relief and happiness flooded him. Perhaps this mistake, at least, could be rectified. 

They traded pleasantries and spoke of the mark, and his good cheer lent his humble guise more credence, though he was careful to bow his posture, like so many of the elves of this age. And quite unlike the elf in front of him, who held herself proud and regal.

“Thenera Lavellen, of Clan Lavellen.” He concealed his surprise at the name. Perhaps she was a dreamer, as him? He resolved himself to ask her of it later, if they got the chance.

“I am pleased to see you still live.” He smiled at her. 

“He means: I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.” Varric added wryly.

“Well then I suppose I should thank you.” The wisp named dreams said, and a grin broke out across her face, wide and open, despite everything happening. Perhaps she was a bit touched.

He resolved to do whatever was necessary to protect the anchor until the breach was closed. If their other companions must be sacrificed to save the mark and the hope it represented, so be it.

They made their way through more demons, and though she had been a prisoner in chains only hours earlier, Thenera took to leading them. There was something odd about her movements, however. She paused moments before demons came into view, readying her bow and then taking the few steps into line of sight with them. Perhaps she was touched. The anchor should not cause such a thing, but it was never meant to be held by mortals. Perhaps this was a side effect. After the third time he noted it, began to cast a barrier as she readied her bow, and she surprised him by thanking him each time. 

He caught her staring often. Sometimes at particular landmarks, or paths, but often at their companions. And him. Her eyes… They seemed to see too much, piercing and unsettling. He could feel her gaze as it lingered on him, and wondered if the others noticed it as well.

After the meeting on the bridge with that idiotic Chantry zealot, they made their way through the mountains, and between battles he caught her staring, enraptured, at the ice formations with wide eyes.

Certainly odd. Perhaps her clan had never been around such formations? He could no sooner think on it as she led them out of the mountain, to the pass, past the slain soldiers and onto a rift. He cast a barrier before the group dispersed, and Thenera stayed close to him as he cast and she shot. 

She did not seem exceptionally proficient, but she threw herself into battle with confidence and an unusual steadiness. When enemies approached, she twisted and danced away before raising her bow again. Graceful, for a mortal.

Before long, they made it back to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. This mistake… This mistake could not be undone. The air glimmered from the heat still trapped in the slag, and he felt his mood sour. Bodies, twisted in agony and still hot as coals, littered the landscape. The breach loomed above, a gaping wound that pulled at his very being. He resolved again. Whatever it took to protect the anchor long enough to seal it. And then Thenera asked the opposite.

“I’m not sure I’m strong enough for this. This one feels… Too big. Like it will swallow me. And… The tear is deeper. I think we may get much stronger demons than we’ve faced yet, and I will need to focus on disrupting the rift, though I’ll shoot when I can.” Thenera said, worry evident on her face for the first time that day. It was only natural, but given her reactions earlier, he took heed.

“I see. In that case, I will make sure you have a barrier to protect you as often as I am able.”

“Um. Actually, could you please focus them on Cassandra and whoever else is taking damage?” His brows knit. This foolish girl held the key to everyone’s salvation, and would ask him to protect others over her? “I have a very bad habit of putting myself in the line of fire if others get hurt. I can evade relatively well unless I’m actively disrupting, or others are in danger.”

He considered. If she truly had such a proclivity, and if doing as she asked would keep the anchor safe, it was worth considering.

“Then give me a signal when you are ready to disrupt, and otherwise I will cover the melee fighters. However, if you were to die without sealing the breach, we are all doomed. If it becomes necessary to focus on keeping you alive, I will.” He replied solemnly. A relieved half smile broke over her face, and they turned to face the rift.


	3. Protection

“I wish I possessed such a gift.” Thenera said with longing. Solas stopped to consider. Was she not named for dreaming? Perhaps the gift ran in her family lines, although it was unusual for one not gifted with magic to have such abilities. And he still had not managed to find her in The Fade as she slept, after facing the demon bearing his name.

“Perhaps, given your name, it is a skill that will come with time. Why choose that name?” He asked, attempting to mask his curiosity, but it was plain.

“Why Solas? Is it a warning or a reminder?” She countered, too quickly. Ah. A sensitive topic. He inclined his head in acknowledgement.

“Why couldn’t it be both?” He returned, giving her far too much, not that she would realize. “I am sorry to have pried. I should have realized it would be quite personal.”

“It’s alright.” She didn’t offer more. He gazed at her, and she met it. Unexpected at every turn. Perhaps she would have the strength for what was to come.

“I will stay then. At least until the breach has been closed.” He offered her.

“Was that in question?” She asked, quirking a brow at him. It seemed to be an almost unconscious movement on her expressive face.

“I am an apostate mage surrounded by Chantry forces, and unlike you, I do not have a divine mark protecting me. Cassandra has been accommodating, but you understand my caution.” He said bitterly. The world had fallen so far in his slumber. Another stone on the mountain of mistakes.

“You came to help, and you saved my life. I won’t let them twist that against you, Solas.” She offered simply.

“How will you stop them?” He asked, knowing she would have little power to, should Cassandra turn on him.

“However I could. Stand in front of you, if need be.” She held his gaze, eyes piercing like the breach, and shrugged a little. “If they’re going to use me as their Herald, they can’t kill me until I’ve fulfilled my purpose. All bets are off after that, considering what they did to Andraste. But... I can be a shield until then.”

“Thank you.” He said, holding her gaze, intense for a wisp. It almost seemed real. “But now, let us hope that either the mages or templars have the power to seal the breach.” She nodded, and silence fell. She hesitated, seeming unwilling to leave his cabin, though why, he could not say.

“I have… Odd dreams. I don’t think I could ever become a dreamer, I’m not even sure my dreams occur in The Fade. ...if that’s possible.” She offered after a moment. He could not help the look of shocked consternation that took up residence on his face.

“All dreaming happens in the Fade. What would lead you to believe yours does not?” He asked, remembering trying to find her and failing.

“The Fade shows you pieces of the past, yes?” Thenera asked. Solas nodded, urging her to continue. “I dream little pieces of the future.”

“That… Should not be possible.” He said. She shrugged. He thought back to their day of blood and rifts. How she had known just where the demons would be. How she had moved moments too soon, or stared, or known just how powerful that final rift would be.

“It… Might explain some things. Though there are simpler explanations.”

“Probably.” She offered with a ghost of a smile. “Maybe it’s just really bad deja vu. You don’t have to believe me, Solas. But that’s why I chose this name.”

He realized just how much she had trusted him, this stranger who had offered her help in the hour of need. And how much she shouldn’t. She obviously couldn’t know of him then, or she would have killed him outright when she first got the chance. If she was being sincere. If.

“I am sorry for the questions. I see it is in fact deeply personal, and I would relish the chance to learn more if you are willing.” She nodded, easily accepting his apology, and grinned, lips twisted into a wicked smile.

“Why don’t you buy me a drink first next time?” She winked, and he couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped. He had slept for so very long, and his body responded in a very inopportune way. If the magic she carried wasn’t so vital, perhaps he would consider a tryst to sate his newly awakened body’s desires.

“I should get going while we’re on a high note. Besides, I do actually need to visit the alchemist. What is his name again? I am terrible with names.” She rose, and Solas followed suit, banishing the thoughts from his mind. It would be unwise to become entangled in any way with those surrounding this fledgling organization, let alone this small Dalish girl with his magic etched into her being.

“Adan. Thank you for the conversation.”


	4. Oculara

He awoke with a start as the anchor came in contact with his skin. 

“I’m sorry to disturb your journey, falon.” Her voice reached out to him, and the layers of sleep began to slide away.

“I suppose… It is time to be on our way?” He asked, voice rougher than he would choose her to hear. And why was she in his tent? He must have overslept egregiously. 

“Yep. Gonna find a cult today.” She waggled her brows at him, and he felt his ire rise. 

“What? How can you know?” He asked, diverted from asking exactly why she was in his tent.

“My dreams, obviously. Plus the elf who asked asked us to get the medicine told us about it.” Her eyes were full of mirth, clearly enjoying his discomfort. She was infuriating. “Oh. Solas. I have no intention of telling anyone else about my dreams. Varric would be insufferable and I don’t need Cassandra thinking I’m any more blessed, or she might light me on fire.”

To be honest, it seemed unlikely they had noticed nothing, but perhaps these quicklings truly were so easy to deceive. Or perhaps they simply attributed that particular oddness to her overall oddness, or the mark in her palm.

“I… Understand. I will keep your secret for now.” 

“Thanks! Also, there’s a magic skull here you’re gonna want to take a look at.” She grinned, and handed him a chunk of bread, and exited the tent before he could form any kind of suitable response. He scrubbed his free hand over his face, willing the last vestiges of sleep to leave, and chewed on the bread as he mulled.

Quick to smile, quick to laugh at inappropriate moments, often gazing at things with a strange look, Thenera did seem a bit touched. If she purported herself with anything less than regal posture, absolute confidence, and kindness and generosity to strangers, there would be very different tales of the Herald of Andraste. 

Not to mention her wit. The scathing dreamer. Or, non dreamer, as it was. He had still found no sign of her in The Fade. A mystery. A potentially dangerous mystery. 

He donned his armor quickly and joined the others. She looked at him, gazing too deep, and led him to the strange skull full of whispers. It was wholly foreign. He peered through it, and saw them illuminating several strange objects.

“You… Really want to put your face up to that? Those things are creepy.” Varric said in disbelief, and he waved the dwarf off. This was new, different. A new magic? Something unknown? Utterly fascinating. He caught Thenera’s eyes as she spoke to Harding about it, and she smiled as though she had bestowed him with a gift. Well. Perhaps she had.

Utterly confounding.

When they made camp that evening, exhausted from a long day, they bickered over spices. Thenera wanted garlic, rosemary, and ginger, and Solas thought perhaps something a little less overpowering would be suitable. She brushed against him, long fingers plucking spices from his hands to smell. She seemed to delight in goading him, and yet… It seemed he could feel the heat from her, simply standing next to him, in a way he could not feel the others. Perhaps it was due to the anchor?

After their much contested dinner, Harding brought up the Oculara. His eyes drifted to Thenera’s across the fire, and she inclined her head in invitation. 

Eager, far too eager for this strange child’s insight, he cast as soon as they were alone. 

“I have cast a soundproof barrier. Do you have additional information about the Oculara?” He asked eagerly. She nodded, firelight shimmering off silver hair. It was odd to feel so excited about something, but new magic was rare. 

“We will find a house full of them in Redcliffe.” She answered, her strange openness only deepening the sense of enigma. “They are made from the skulls of Tranquil who fled the mage rebellion.” She gazed at him, and he could see her jaw muscles working, something he had not seen since the Temple of Sacred Ashes. He wondered what visions she had seen, to provoke such a reaction. If her gifts were true.

“The skulls of Tranquil? I had wondered where they had gone.” Solas mused, lips twisting. Tranquility was a true horror.

“It’s barbaric.” She said vehemently, catching his eyes over the flame. They burned. An echo of the inferno that should be, if it were not for the veil.

“The process of Tranquility? Or these Oculara?” He asked, quirking his head to the side. This strange girl seemed to have strong opinions on mages, opinions best not spoken around the Seeker.

“Yes.” She answered. “Both. And the shards? They unlock an ancient temple.” 

His brows furrowed as he digested this newest piece of the puzzle. Where, precisely, did her knowledge end? It seemed each question only unlocked more. He wished, for possibly the dozenth time, that he could glean more answers from her in The Fade, where he could observe her mind without detection. It was… Disorienting.

“Exactly how much do you see in your dreams?” He asked. These echoes of people were one thing, but at least most of them still existed in the Fade, which made them the smallest bit more real. This one… There was nothing. And yet, her eyes burned and pierced, and her words caught him off guard more than most. 

“Are you saying you believe me now?” She tilted her head back at him, expression open and curious. 

“I am not sure.” He admitted. It was impossible, and yet… “It begins to seem wiser to take your word. And I will admit to curiosity.”

“Tomorrow will find the Templar camp. It's south of the broken bridge next to the river.” She offered, choosing her words carefully. She rubbed her hands absently, massaging the anchor. “And we should get some sleep. It won't be an easy fight.” 

He nodded, and they rose to head to bed. 

“Dareth shiral.” He offered, and she smiled at the familiar term in this land of shems.

“Dareth shiral, falon. Enjoy the Fade.” She replied wistfully, slipping into her tent. It was getting harder to tear himself from this strange enigma wrapped in his magic, and a frame of moonlight. One who apparently considered him a friend.


	5. Halla in Moonlight

“Tell me more about yourself, Falon.” Thenera asked, peeking through her lashes at him. It was the exact opposite of what he wished to talk about, but it seemed only fair after all she had told him.

“I grew up in a village to the North. There was little to interest a young man, especially one gifted with magic. But as I slept, spirits of The Fade showed me glimpses of wonders I had never imagined. I treasured my dreams. Being awake, out of the Fade, became troublesome.”

Her eyes drifted half shut, listening. This odd creature. Did she truly find this tiny piece so fascinating? Or was she attempting not to fall asleep? Some strange, awkward feeling stirred inside him. This wisp should not be able to draw such things from him. Curious. And maddening.

“Did spirits try to tempt you?” She asked, lips turning up in a small smile as she lifted her gaze to his.

“No more than a brightly colored fruit is deliberately tempting you to eat it. I learned how to protect myself from more aggressive spirits and how to safely interact with the rest. I learned how to control my dreams with full consciousness. There was so much I wanted to explore.” 

“I’m not particularly prone to jealousy… But that sounds magical.” She glanced at him, and looked away. “Though, I’m guessing you haven’t spent your whole life dreaming?”

“What? You don’t know?” He asked, half teasing and half verifying. It was rare to find someone who wanted to know so much about The Fade. Rarer still to find someone who envied his journeys. Most of the shemlen saw The Fade as a frightening place, but this odd wisp...

“I only know what you’ve told me.” She said, meeting his gaze plaintively.

“Ah.” Something in his chest loosened, an anxiety he hadn’t realized he was carrying. “No. Eventually I was unable to find new areas in The Fade.”

“Oh? How come?” She asked coyly, eyes twinkling. Such a strange creature. This was not precisely a titillating subject for most. 

“Two reasons. First, The Fade reflects the world around it. Unless I traveled, I would never find anything new. Second, The Fade reflects and is limited to our imaginations. To find interesting areas, one must be interesting.”

“I can’t imagine you having a problem with that second part.” She purred, and he felt the campfire warm several degrees, unable to keep in the chuckle that escaped. 

“Thank you. In truth, I have enjoyed experiencing more of life to find more of The Fade.” And this odd thing, forming between them, all secrets and mystery and stolen truths. 

“Oh?” She quirked a brow, baiting. He rose to the challenge. How could he not? He was a wolf, and she, halla in moonlight.

“You train to loose an arrow to its target. The grace with which you move is a pleasing side benefit. You have chosen a path whose steps you do not dislike because it leads to a destination you enjoy. As do I.” 

“You’re suggesting I’m graceful?” Thenera asked, full lips twisting into a playful smirk. He felt his gaze heat. Yes, take the bait little halla. She did seem to enjoy flirting, and he had few qualms at least with this.

“No. I am declaring it. It was not up for debate.” He gave her a small smile, challenging, and relished in the response, though he knew he shouldn’t. But this game, this dance, was magnetic. Perhaps they could continue it. Perhaps he could use this to learn more about her, and the half truths and snippets she gave him. 

“Oh. Well you have quite the indomitable will yourself.” She quirked a brow, a smile that spoke of wicked things plain on her face.

“Oh?” He asked playfully. It was a fun game.

“I have yet to see it dominated. I imagine the sight would be quite… Fascinating.” She purred, bit her lip, and he couldn’t help the thought of biting them as well. He felt a flush, and the magnetic pull intensified. How long had it been since he had been truly free to lose control? And the idea of this slight, feminine creature muzzling him and taking what she wished… Perhaps she was no Halla, but something feline. More dangerous than she appeared.

“You continue to surprise me, da’len. And I believe we should retire for the evening.” He reminded himself, firmly. She was so young, and despite her poise and confidence, so small. Though not so very young in mortal years, perhaps thirty? And obviously well versed in such things. No, Pride, she is much too important for your affections, and much too young. Though… This game was quite fun. 

They slipped into their separate tents for the evening; her with Cassandra, and him with Varric. His body pulsed, awkwardly, and he began meditating to steady himself for dreams. It would not do to sleep in this state, not if he wished to seek Wisdom. 

But his mind wandered, Varric’s snoring a steady reminder of the here and now. She was stubborn, proud, honest, and yet still so secretive. Every bit of knowledge she let slip to him privately another piece of the puzzle, revealing how few pieces he truly had. And yet… She asked him about everything. She seemed nearly desperate to learn more of The Fade, of spirits and times past, and anything and everything about the magic she couldn’t touch. Tonight was not the first time her eyes had drifted shut as she listened, picturing the story as he spoke, such a stark contrast to the wit and animation she showed through the days, head held high, unflinching as blood splattered her. Her curiosity added to the mix seemed… More, too much for the world around her. Almost as though she might be real.

Varric’s snoring skipped and changed timbres, pulling Solas from his reverie. He refocused, and finally managed to still his mind, and slipped into The Fade.


	6. Wisdom

“Why do you continue to say it is impossible, Da’len?” His oldest friend asked, perhaps the only one yet living who could use such a term of endearment on him.

Though Wisdom offered memories of the past and lessons learned, her true strength, true purpose, was in asking the questions needed to find your own answers. Wisdom was learned, not taught. 

“This power of hers cannot be. It follows no rules of magic, no laws of this world.” He debated. 

“Which laws? What if it is not magic?” 

“Not magic?” He thought back to the Oculara. “Or perhaps new magic. If it was tied to the Tranquil, perhaps I would not know of it.” 

“Does she follow many rules of the waking?” Wisdom asked. She looked at her counterpart, Pride, and he dove into memories of interactions. 

“She is wholly disconnected from The Fade, as the Children of Stone, yet she is not. She has no magic, and yet, the anchor has bonded to her. Such a thing should not be possible.” His brows furrowed. He had spent far too much of his time debating this as of late, and his direct attempts to speak on the matter with Lavellen had all been met with dismissive shrugs, laced with a deliberate intention he could not shake. 

“Do you believe they are linked?” Wisdom asked, seeking.

“Perhaps, though I know not which direction. Perhaps the anchor bonded to her without killing her due to the disconnection? I believe more research is necessary.”

“It seems a worthy puzzle for you, da’fen.” She said warmly. 

“She certainly seems to be.” He answered, and Wisdom looked at him, through him, seeing things he could not fathom through his pride. “Perhaps I can continue gaining her trust to learn more of the future she carries, and her strange dreaming that keeps her from The Fade.”

“Would that be wise?” Wisdom asks.

“I do not know. If she knows the path currently laid before us, it seems prudent. However, the knowledge must be weighed against the cost, as always.”

“Dirthara-ma” She smiles, sadly. “How does this affect your plans?” 

“I have had to adjust, with the anchor bonded to her, but once the tear is healed, and my orb recovered, I shall be able to continue.”

“She doesn’t change anything?”

“No.” He answered resolutely. “She cannot, beyond the inconvenience of the anchor in her palm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Da'fen ; Little wolf  
> Dirthara-ma ; "May you learn," and an elven curse.


	7. Dreamy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild NSFW!

They finally left the Hinterlands, after spending far too much time there, and returned to Haven. Lavellen had seemed unwilling to move on quickly, though it had seemed that she was quite efficient, at least. 

The bath that greeted him in his cabin was warm and inviting, prepared and waiting. It was not a luxury he had been able to enjoy often since waking, though it did always strike him as another pale echo of better days. The bath houses of Arlathan had been sprawling and gracious, with cut crystal flowing with magically heated water. This crude wooden tub seemed an apt comparison between worlds. Still, he sank into the heated water gratefully. Perhaps some pleasure could still be found in this broken world. 

Thenera rose to his mind at that thought. Her wicked smile played, and the way her eyes pierced him. She too was sunk in a hot bath at this very moment. His body responded eagerly, and he sighed. Perhaps it would be best to address these urges before joining her at the tavern. He tried not to think of her, specifically, as he took hold of himself. Just lips and tongue and caresses and heat. The pressure built, and as it released, it was her lips, twisting into a smirk, that pushed him over the edge.

He dressed quickly and joined Varric in the tavern. Apparently they were the first to finish their baths. 

“Chuckles!” Varric called, motioning him to sit. “I’m surprised you decided to join us.”

“And why would I not, Master Tethras? I too need to eat.”

“I’m actually kinda surprised you aren’t sustained by ‘the fade’ or something.” The dwarf said, and Solas actually did chuckle at the surprising perceptiveness of the author in front of him.

“It has been said that some ancient elves could while they rested in Uthenera for centuries untold.” Which he had done, though it had taken over a century of that terrible herb mixture sustaining him before he had become proficient.

“No shit? That’s weird.” Varric’s brows shot up as he noted something new. “Wait, U-Thenera? Like Glowy?”

“Yes, in fact, our herald is named for dreaming, though simply the ordinary kind.” He offered. Varric chewed over this new information. 

“Huh. Is that why she seems so… Dreamy sometimes?” 

“Are you saying our herald is dreamy?” Solas asked wryly. Varric waved him off with a vaguely annoyed smile, putting a possessive hand on his crossbow, seemingly an unconscious response.

“Just. You must have noticed the looks she gets sometimes. Especially when so many point your way.” He leaned forward, voice low but amused.

“Ah. Yes. I believe I know of what you speak. There is a chance it is a side effect of the mark. Or she is simply, as you said, ‘dreamy.’” He offered, obfuscating with ease. 

“Now who thinks she’s dreamy?” The child of stone winked at him. “Wait. You’re all… Into ‘the fade’ and her name is literally dream! What a coincidence!” He grinned, and Solas returned a chagrined look.

“We have little in common beyond that. Now, Master Tethras, might I ask you a few questions about the Children of the Stone?” He diverted. It would not do to have this dwarf pushing.

“Sure, Chuckles. Though I don’t know all that much, being casteless and all.”

They spoke for a bit of Dwarven lore, and Thenera joined late in the discussion, wafting the scent of roses as she sat. Maddening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, this was awkward to write, but I think it turned out ok?


	8. Val Royeaux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote three new chapters today so I'm uploading three! Hope you enjoy this one!

He could see by the set of her shoulders that their brave Herald didn't especially like Val Royeaux. Perhaps she had bad memories here, though when a Lavellen would have been to Val Royeaux…

There was a peculiar quality to her, she radiated… Something. He found reading these people’s emotions to be quite difficult at times, though Thenera’s did seem easier than the others, despite her disconnection. It was… Something both cold and hot, feverish and frozen. It gave her a quality more like a living statue of righteousness than flesh, and it reminded him with a pang of Mythal, standing on the dais, judging. Another pale echo of things that should be. 

As they worked their way through the market, whispers reached their ears, and her eyes flashed each time she heard “knife ear” slung towards their little group. He should possibly tell her he didn't mind, and she should learn not to as well. It was shortsigted. Later. 

She led them to the square, where the Chantry was actively denouncing them, and she seemed utterly unsurprised. Ah. Then she had seen these steps. Or at least parts of them. He braced himself, as she did not seem particularly prone to anger, yet radiated it now. Even though they were on a platform above, and Thenera made no claim at divinity, the burning anger contained in calm made her appear more regal, more divine than any of them. An unexpected twinge of pride surged in him. If one person must have been bound to his anchor, it seemed unlikely he could have picked better, at least from these near tranquil creatures.

The templars arrived unexpectedly, though not unexpected to her. He could see her jaw muscles straining as they climbed the dais, and could not shake the sense that she was radiating cold. Perhaps it was good she was not a mage. 

One of the templars struck the sister speaking, and he nearly reached out to stop Lavellen from moving, but she had frozen on the spot. She blazed, unspoken hate radiating until the templars left. 

Ah. So this is what she had anticipated. She seemed unable to speak until they left, rigid control finally loosening as they left the radius of attack.

“Mages are looking better and better.” Thenera shot venomously.

“I wouldn’t write them off so quickly. There must be others in the order who see what he’s become. Either way, we should send a scout to Haven to inform them, as we will not return for at least a week yet.” The Seeker appeased, determination set in her shoulders.

“Solas, before we do, could you please help heal the sister?” The dream asked. Curious. They had just denounced her publicly. He nodded.

“I shall not let the hands of that elven apostate touch me!” The sister spat as they approached.

“Do you want to be in pain, or do you want to be healed?” Thenera asked, fixing the sister with one of her too deep stares. “I get that we aren’t who you wanted for your savior, but would you deny a helping hand out of bigotry? I expected better from the Chantry, and I am glad you do not consider me your herald if these are the ideals of your chant.” 

“If she does not wish my help I will not force it.” Solas said mildly. The sister relented after Lavellen’s chastisement, and he healed her. They turned, and the blazing wisp led them back towards the Inquisition scout who had met them.

An arrow streaked from a balcony, striking the cobblestones within a few feet of Lavellen. Their party immediately began drawing weapons, except, of course, the odd creature the arrow had nearly struck. She had barely flinched. Solas returned his staff to his back as the others sheathed their weapons as well, and Thenera plucked the note tied to the arrow with a red ribbon. 

“People say you’re special. I want to help, and I can bring everyone.” Lavellen read, posture losing its rigidity as she did. “There’s a baddie in Val Royeaux. I hear he wants to hurt you. Have a search for the red things in the market, the docks, and round the cafe, and maybe you’ll meet him first. Bring swords. Signed the Friends of Red Jenny.”

A smirk inexplicably lit her face, and her seething countenance lightened. Such a strange creature. 

“We’ll go find these clues after we speak with the scout.” She said.

They continued walking, and an unmasked servant approached, offering Lavellen an invitation to a soiree the next evening. How odd. Was this why she had spent time stitching a dress on their ship ride over? She accepted graciously, and they continued onwards, only to be stopped yet again. This time by Grand Enchanter Fiona. Who was not supposed to be in Val Royeaux. And Thenera seemed not the least surprised. 

He schooled the questions from his face. Later.


	9. Where it Ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This coincides with Chapter 15 of Secrets in Dreams!
> 
> It's... not much new other than the POV shift, sorry!

Later became much later. They had found the necessary clues and taken on the strange elf who seemed to despise elves. She was oddly built much more like the elves of his time, and was strangely proficient with her bow, perhaps even more than Thenera. Another curiosity. And Thenera had greeted her with instant trust and a deep, resounding laugh at Sera’s antics. Almost as though she was meeting an old friend.

He got his chance after dinner. She retired before the rest of the group, clearly exhausted after a trying day. The perfect time to question her. He waited until it would no longer be conspicuous for him to retire as well, especially as the Child of Stone seemed quite set on something happening between him and the wisp named for dreams. Though she had not seemed wisp like earlier that day. He made his way up the stairs, and knocked on her door quietly. 

“Lavellen, may I speak with you?” He asked.

“Sure, but give me a minute.” He heard the faint sounds of water splashing, and felt his face heat. Of course she had been in the bath. He tamped down on the rising flush brutally, before she could open the door. 

“You’re sure now is a good time?” He asked as she opened it. Her silver hair clung , dripping down her nightgown, a silver grey that made her look even more like the moonlight he had begun to associate her with, and her skin was studded with droplets of water she had missed in her rush to open the door. They twinkled like tiny crystals. 

“I wouldn’t have invited you in if it bothered me. If it bothers you, we can talk tomorrow instead.” She offered simply, stifling a yawn. Well. He would certainly have to mind staying on track. He nodded, entering the room, and Thenera closed the door.

“It seems you know more than you’ve let on.” He said, quietly. The near accusation hung in the air.

“What gives you that idea?” She replied, a fake innocence coloring her tone. It did not especially suit her.

“What happens tomorrow?” He pressed.

“Madame de Fer’s salon. You saw the invitation.” She rubbed her face, exhaustion seeping deeper. Her eyes, so startling, drifted partially shut, making her look soft and delicate again. As though she would melt if he touched her, and her hair still dripped water down onto her nightgown, the fabric darkening further and further with each drip. But he must not allow himself to be distracted.

“Which you made a dress for. And are going to alone.” He pressed again. 

“Yes.” She said simply, attempts at subterfuge gone, yet still obfuscating. Maddening. 

“And today. You were angry even before the human’s insults reached your ears. You did not even try to sway Lucius, which you would not have done without knowing he was a lost cause. You were not shocked when an arrow landed within five feet of us, and you were not surprised by the appearance of Grand Enchanter Fiona, who was in Redcliffe last we heard. And when we met Sera this evening you looked as though you were being reunited with an old friend.” The words spilled from his lips, quiet but urgent, before he could find himself distracted by the glittering drops of water on her pale legs.

“Yes.” She agreed again.

“Exactly how much have you seen in your dreams, da’len?” He asked, steeling himself. This small, strange creature could not possibly know so much.

“There are parts I don’t know at all. Traveling here on the ship? I have never dreamed that. But meeting Sera? I have seen it many times.” He stored the words, to pore over later. They were not the goal he sought.

“Do you know how this ends?” He asked. A faint line marred her face between her brows, and she chewed her lip as she thought.

“Do you really want to know, Solas?” She asked finally, giving him an exceptionally weary smile. As though she was seeing death and pain before her eyes, and not the modest room that surrounded them. What he would give to see, to know. 

“Yes. Please tell me.” He answered. She looked up, uncertainly meeting his gaze, and let out a shaky breath.

“I don't know for sure. After we close the breach, things get less certain.” She held his gaze, an offering. There was more, but this was enough for tonight. Relief wracked through his body.

“We close the breach?” He asked, voice faltering. She smiled, and something broke in him. 

“Yes Solas, we do.” Her smile widened, like moonlight spilling on white flowers. She reached out for him, and, in a moment of weakness, he let her. Regret laced his smile, but he wrapped his arms around her slight form anyways, feeling her heat and light radiating into him, and too greedy to pull back.


	10. Shimmering Silk

“What can I do for you, Da’len?” He asked, schooling his expression. He stood resolutely in the door. It would not do to let her in after his slip the previous night, and especially not while she looked like that. She had clearly been getting ready for the ball this evening, and had only yet applied her makeup, but her features, so pale and delicate, were refined and polished, sparkling like crystal. And she held a bakery box. The kind that looked as though it might contain his favorite pastry.

“I got a little something for you.” She smiled, flashing white teeth behind pink lips, and handed him the box. Something warm fluttered within him, and a smile escaped as he opened the box to find it was indeed, one of his favorite pastries.

“This was unnecessary.” He attempted, smoothing his face back to politeness.

“I had the morning off and decided to get everyone small gifts in thanks. It’s the least I can do. Every one of you have saved my life multiple times. Plus, it was a great excuse to get one for myself.” Her smile widened. Had she truly guessed, or had she somehow dreamt of his tastes in baked goods? Moreover, had she truly taken her first few hours alone to acquire gifts for their group? For him?

“In that case; thank you.” His face warmed, a smile slipping through the cracks. He was so near moving out of the door, inviting her in… Luckily, the moment his tenuous control slipped, she excused herself and left. Yet more layers to this strange creature.

He settled back down with his reading, and availed himself to one of the cakes. He stared at the words as he finished his cake, but his book remained on the same page. He willed thoughts of her strange powers, and her smile, from his mind, and refocused on the page in front of him.

Another knock shattered his concentration.

“Hey Chuckles, we’re meeting downstairs to see Glowy off! Come join us.” Varric called through the door.

“I shall be down momentarily, Master Tethras.” He answered, not deigning to open the door to greet him properly.

He wondered if, perhaps, he could beg off the send off. There seemed to be little to gain from it. He turned his attention back to his book. Or attempted to, in any case. However… He was quite curious to see the garment Lavellen had created, and to see her eyes gleam, softened by khol, again. 

He sighed, and made his way down the stairs.

“You made it! I was worried you would be too deep in your research.” Varric greeted.

“How could I not when you made it sound so compelling?” Solas returned wryly.

“I shall confess. I worry what this dress of hers will look like. Why could she not go in armor?” Cassandra asked, fearing their Herald would disappoint at the ball in the dress she had created.

“I get the feeling Glowy knows what she’s doing. Looked like something she’d done a thousand times when she was working on the ship.”

“Ugh.” The Seeker offered in a moment of little faith.

And just then the wait ended. And his stomach plummeted, impassive mask going up reflexively.

She was sheathed in cream silk that caught and threw light as though magic was woven through the very threads. The twisted and pleated fabric fell like water, hugging every curve down her body and spilling out at the hem, obscuring her from the neck down and yet hinting at every enticing thing cloaked within. Silver beads danced and gleamed in her hair and down the sides of the dress, and when she moved… The shimmer of the fabric only served to amplify her grace. 

She looked utterly, breathtakingly Elvhen. She could have graced Mythal’s halls in this, though it would have been one of the more modest dresses of the time. He knew beyond a doubt he would have chased her then. Plied her with sweet words until she begged, and used his rather gifted tongue until her begging changed timbres, growing ragged and sweet and oh so incoherent until….

“How do I look?” She purred, looking among the group, and settling those unsettling eyes on him just a half second too long. He had thought about his tongue working in other ways for too long and he could not trust it to form words appropriate for their current company just yet. 

“You made that on the voyage here?” The Seeker asked, brows inclining in shock.

“Well, I had the luxury of not spending the whole voyage sick.” She responded wryly.

“Damn Glowy! What a vision! Andraste herself would be jealous!” Varric chimed in. “Don’t you think, Chuckles?” 

Solas offered the dwarf a flat look, willing himself to respond.

“You look lovely, da’len. It seems you are quite skilled, beyond your proficiency with with bow and arrows.” Yes. That would work. Focus on her accomplishments and not her visage. Do not get caught up in the charade that she might be one of the People. She is a small thing, though beautiful. And still, as ever, far too young. 

“You have no idea.” She purred, and turned on her feet without seeing the flush that rose.


	11. Slow Arrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so, there's some stuff in here that probably won't make a ton of sense unless you've read Masked Empire.
> 
> So... Quick overview of pertinent bits. And, obviously, spoilers.
> 
> When Briala gains access to part of the Eluvian Network, she is accompanied by Felassan, who is Solas' agent. His name translates to "Slow Arrow" and there's a story he tells Briala about Fen'Harel and the slow arrow, where a village gains Fen'Harel's help to destroy a beast, he looses an arrow in the air, and leaves. The townspeople are mad and accuse him of not upholding his word, of not saving them. He replies "Who said anything about saving you?" Beast shows up, kills everyone but the children, and then opens his mouth to devour them, and the arrow strikes him dead. 
> 
> Anyways, by the end, Briala offers to give Felassan the password for the Eluvians, and he tells her not to. Solas kills him for it. I was real mad because Felassan is great.

He found the meeting place with ease, navigating into the bowels of the city, to the alienage.

An echo of an echo of an echo, and one that should never have been. It seemed no matter his actions, elves were subjugated. His nose crinkled in revulsion at the thought, and then carefully smoothed on his mild mannered mask as he entered the tavern.

He spotted the scrap of white cloth fluttering from a wrist, a strange fashion choice, and the signal needed. He settled across from the elf.

Judging by her clothing, she was a servant of one of the higher lords, though she had removed her mask for this. It would not do for her to represent them while on business for Briala.

“I have a message.” He said without preamble.

She held out her hand, expecting a note, and he shook his head.

“Can you remember this and pass it on? I’d prefer there be no paper trail.” He said. She looked at him curiously, and nodded.

Just then, their drinks arrived, so they broke for a moment and thanked the bartender and paid. He just barely covered his grimace when he took a sip of the cider. How on earth could Thenera enjoy such a thing? Well, she did also seem inclined to tea, so this should not come as a shock.

“Tell her ‘The slow arrow may save some yet. But it will require transportation.’” He told her. Her eyes narrowed in concentration as she memorized the words. Perhaps Felassan's death was not a waste. Not if he could still use this agents name. It would certainly get Briala’s attention.

“I have it. I’ll pass it along to her.” She stated firmly.

“My thanks. I am currently placed within the Inquisition, but have greater aspirations to restore the Elven people. Your employer may reach me there, care of Elari in the kitchens.” He replied. As they had just gotten their drinks, they sat and made idle chatter to avoid suspicion. “Any news in the district?”

“Oh. Yes, there was a strange occurrence today not far from here. Have you heard yet? It has been all anyone has spoken of in the district since this afternoon.”

“I have not. What was it?”

“A strange Dalish woman accosted two nobles giving one of ours some trouble. She managed to get them to run off. We’ve been doing damage control to make sure there’s no retaliation. They were humiliated. She… Sent them off with their breeches in tatters.”

“Dalish?” He asked, brows furrowing as suspicions rose. “Do you have a description?”

“Pale, silver hair. Pretty. Pink tattoos, green eyes. Wearing some kind of simple travel clothes with a scarf over her head to obscure things. Only armed with a dagger.”

_Fenedhis._

“Tell me everything from the beginning.” He asked, in a tone that brokered no argument.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wish I could have written Solas feeling bad about Felassan's death... But he just wouldn't do it for me. Jerk. 
> 
> Also, had a lot of fun with the not-lying in this chapter. Heh.


	12. Not a Child

He made his way back to the inn and waited, ire rising with each passing hour. Did she know this would happen? Did she know what had happened the last time an elf stood up to the nobles in an alienage? 

No. If she had foreknowledge, she would have been armed and armored. Or brought someone with her.

She surely knew what could have happened to her had those nobles won against her. It was an unacceptable risk. 

She would not be allowed in dangerous situations alone again. The anchor was too precious. The fate of Thedas, and Elvhenan, rested in her palm, and she was too young, too inexperienced to safely carry such a burden without him. 

When the others went to bed, it was a great relief to no longer pretend at good humor. 

He paced freely, and still she did not return.

Had he immediately made the same mistake again, allowing her to go alone to an Orlesian salon where any number of missteps in The Game could end with her never returning to him? To the Inquisition? This was unacceptable. 

No. She had known, at least, about the salon. She would not have entered a dangerous situation clad in naught but silk.

Finally, he heard the approach of a carriage that stopped in front of the inn, and felt the tug of the anchor returning into the sphere of his senses. The door opened, and Thenera entered, still nearly perfectly coiffed. Her face split into a smile on seeing him. So bright, so genuine. And it could have ended so differently today. She caught his gaze, and her smile faltered. 

“I’m glad you have returned safely.” He said. “Though that was not in question, was it?”

“Not especially. Though our new Inquisition member did kill a shem noble for me.” She tried at nonchalance, offering a lopsided smile. He kept himself from pursuing that line of questioning. 

“May we speak privately?” He asked. She nodded, and she led him to her room. The smell of roses lingered here, and silk shimmered. This fragile thing was far too precious. The anchor was far too precious. There were so many terrible things that could have befallen her, too many ways her fragility could have been exploited. He cast a sound barrier so he would be more free to talk, after closing the door.

“I spent some time in the elven district today after you left.” He said. “Did you know what would happen?”

“No.” She answered, as pieces clicked in place and resolution settled on her face. “That was something I have never seen before.”

“It was careless.” He glared. “You went alone. Your interference could have cost your life, or caused unknown damage to the elves of this city.”

“I couldn’t do nothing.” She retorted, candlelight on her dress shifting her whole being to dancing flame. “I didn’t start an outright fight, and I have a plan to deal with the remaining noble.” 

“Remaining?” He inquired. At least there would be less for the elves of the alienage to worry about from the nobles.

“The other was the one our new enchanter took care of for me this evening.” She gave him a small, predatory smile. “He was…. A dick.” She said decisively. His ire began to dissipate. She had, in fact, considered multiple facets of the situation. She was unhurt. She had also saved another elf from the fate he had feared for her. 

“I wish you had not been alone.” He insisted, wanting little more than to wrap his arms around her again and assure himself she was truly safe. That the anchor was still safe in her palm. It shone innocently against the cream, a gentle green glow against the dancing candlelight.

“I’m never alone. It was nice. And needed. I can’t apologize for that.” She stated, seeming taller and broader with her simple explanation. He had overreacted, possibly. 

He took a deep breath and let it out.

“I… Can understand that. It was still careless.”

“But worth it for cake though, yea?” She teased, and he felt a twist within him. Another thing that might have been his fault.

“No. The cake was lovely, but it was not worth a risk on your life.” He managed not to snarl. Barely. “You carry in your hand the key to closing the breach, and with it, the hope of all. Please endeavor to be more careful. The mark cannot be duplicated without immense power.” He saw her gaze sour in response. If she must hate him to stay safe, if it would keep her from a terrible fate, it would be for the best. 

“I’m fine Solas. I know you see me as such, but I’m not a child, or just the vessel of the anchor.” Frustration welled. He should argue, tell her that was all she was, tell her that she should not meddle in affairs she could not understand, not without him. He opened his mouth to chide her, and found he couldn’t. It would be a lie.

His mouth snapped closed and his jaw flexed. He nodded crisply to her and let himself out of her room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say "the anchor" one more time Solas. I'm sure everyone will believe you then.


	13. The First Surprise

“Solas. You’re DRY.” Thenera blurted. Possibly the first time he had ever heard genuine surprise in her voice, and he couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped. Not after the tense journey and only half accepted apology.

“Yes. Magic may be frowned on by many, but it does have its uses.” He offered.

“Can you share? I would trade my left hand. Especially since we’ll be here for at least a few days. I’m already starting to prune.” She did look miserable already, hair beginning to cling to her, and droplets caught on her eyelashes. She wiped at them, but only managed to smear the water around her face.

“Your left hand is where the mark is, Herald.” He stated dryly.

“Yep.” She answered, lifting her brows and pursing her lips, expectantly.

“We’ve been here all of fifteen minutes.” He continued.

“Yea. And it’s only going to get worse. So… Can you?” She insisted. The idea of her being at his mercy was quite… fascinating. 

“I would also be interested in this, Solas.” Cassandra added. “Though I would not trade a limb.” She shot a glare to Thenera, who seemed ready to stick her tongue out at the Seeker. She had spent far too much time with Sera on the return.

“Possibly. Though I cannot do so in addition to barriers and battle magic. However, I may be able to add water repellant features to your armor this evening, as well as Cassandra’s.” Solas offered. Near palpable relief washed over Thenera. She must truly be miserable with the damp seeping into her clothing.

“Please. Because by tomorrow I’ll be ready to lick Fen’Harel’s feet to be dry again.” She said petulantly, and he spluttered. Lick his... He quickly turned his attention to the shoreline. 

“Oh, I’m glad to see you two made up.” Varric said, mirth in his voice. “I didn’t know you had a foot fetish, Chuckles.” He and Thenera laughed, and he was torn between ire at the assumption and consequent reaction, or relief that it seemed at last that things were returning to normal. He settled for annoyed as Harding came over, offering oiled cowls for members.

“Oh Harding. I could kiss you right now.” Thenera said in a breathy voice that seemed ill suited for public. Was she to flirt with everyone around the Inquisition? She had made more playful comments towards both Varric and Cassandra that he had seen, but they had lacked the intensity she now showed, and had showed him.

“Well that would be something to write home about.” The scout answered with a flush. Perhaps he had put more gravity than was strictly necessary on their previous interactions. Perhaps it was simply a game to her, and he need not treat it with more care than that himself. Or perhaps he had driven her off with his anger. It would be better that way. 

They made their way to the shore and found the mercenary company mid battle along the coastline. Thenera halted them and they watched. The leader was brutal and merciless, the very picture of the barbarism he had seen of the Qunari in The Fade. They easily butchered their opponents, and afterwards, the hulking creature covered in scars and an eyepatch beckoned Thenera closer. His hand twitched with the urge to cast a barrier, but he saw her expression. Utterly relaxed, with a small smile on her face, looking as though she was holding back a wider one. Another case of instant trust in a brute. 

And then this ‘Iron Bull’ revealed he was Ben Hassrath. And Thenera seemed utterly unconcerned, and unsurprised. His lips tightened, wishing he could know what she knew that put her so at ease. Or perhaps she was simply a trusting fool. She did trust him after all.

Not only was this spy part of the Qun, a horror all on its own, but one of the very agents that abetted in torture in the name of compliance. Perhaps he could make her see what a grave error this was, in time. Or perhaps he would let it rest for now, and see if she knew something he did not.

They retired for the day, and the Chargers and their leader passed out drinks from a cask and began a round of raucous storytelling, with the qunari approaching Thenera with a mug, after she had already declined once.

“Hey Boss, sure you don’t want some? It’ll help that sour mood on your face.” He grinned at her, and she sighed and took the mug. 

“Thanks, Bull. I really hate the damp.” She returned, placing a hand on his arm for a moment before raising the mug to her lips. The Iron Bull watched her with interest as she took a sip and made a terrible strained face. “Augh this is AWFUL.”

“But warming. Which definitely helps here.” He grinned again, scars twisting. “Second drink is better.”

“True.” She took another sip, with an only slightly less pronounced grimace. “Thanks. I think I should have packed something less terrible though.”

“This is great! I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He laughed, a low sound that sounded more like a growl than anything pleasant, and wandered off. 

He relaxed his knuckles as the Iron Bull walked away. He wondered what ulterior motive the Qun might have for the anchor, and for its host, who currently shivered into her hood, sipping a drink which he’d overheard could kill grass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... Did not realize just how much Solas disliked Bull until I wrote this.
> 
> Also... pun not intentional but awesome (Solas said dryly) Heh.


	14. Memories of Spirits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. Gonna attempt to catch this one up to Secrets, so I'm going to try to post 2 chapters a day of this one and one of Secrets until we get there. I expect it'll be sometime around Skyhold they match up? We'll see.

His feet carried him to her, and he sat on the log next to her, his magic drying the space beneath him and creating a barrier over her.

“Herald.” Solas greeted as he sat. 

“Apostate.” She answered with her usual humor, warmth returning to her cheeks with the vile alcohol he could now smell. It certainly smelled like it would kill grass.

“I’d like to offer my services.” He stated mildly, and saw her flush deepen. Interesting. 

“Which services are those?” She asked, faux innocence dripping from her words, and he suddenly understood why she had flushed. Did it truly only take a few meager sips for her to devolve into lechery? Or possibly she would have regardless. He wove his hand pointedly over her, ignoring the her tone.

“I could kiss you.” She said, in that same breathy voice that seemed far too intimate for the noisy campsite.

“Considering you said that to Harding earlier too, and I’ve yet to see results, I won’t hold my breath.” He quirked a brow, trying not think too hard about the implications. It was clearly just a game.

“You sure you want to challenge me on that, Solas?” She drained her cup and met his gaze. Her lips twisted in a smirk, still wet, and now flushed. Perfectly biteable, other than the smell of the foul liquid that still lingered there. Would it burn? Just how breathy would her voice get? He flushed, and pushed the thought away. There must be lines, rules in this game.

“Perhaps not.” He answered, lowering his gaze from hers. He began shifting his weight to stand, to leave her to flirt and drink and make merry with the others, when she placed a hand on his arm.

“Thank you.” She said earnestly, smiling. He returned a small smile. “Would you tell me another story of The Fade?”

His face was caught between a surprised smile and consternation.

“Would you rather not join in the festivities with the others? We could speak of it another time.”

“We could.” She paused, considering. “If I do that, I’ll be forced to drink more of that terrible swill to keep myself from noticing the damp.”

“And listening to me talk would somehow prevent this tragedy?” 

“Listening to you talk…” She let out a breath, as though bracing herself to say something difficult. “Is riveting. It’ll distract me from the misery.”

His brows inclined in surprise. This was not what he expected. Though… He thought back to her eyes drifting shut during previous conversations, and a puzzle piece snapped in place with the finality of truth. He felt his ears warm, ever so slightly. It had cost her something to admit this, he thought.

“Very well. You continue to surprise me.” He settled back down. “What would you like to hear of?”

“Can you tell me more about the veil?” She asked.

“Have I not answered that line of inquiry to your satisfaction?” He asked. She had already asked, back in the Hinterlands. She shrugged.

“It’s a massive, complicated phenomenon. I’m sure there’s more to say than one conversation.” He gazed at her curiously. “Has it always been there? Does it cover the whole world?”

“It has not always existed, but it spans all of the world, as far as I am aware. Once, in the times of ancient Arlathan, The Fade and this world were woven together, with spirits able to exist peacefully in both places.”

“Do you know more about then? It would be amazing to meet so many spirits.” Her eyes gleamed, languid from the drink and shimmering firelight.

“You have quite a rare spirit yourself if you believe that.”

“Flatterer.” She grinned. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.” She said, and he could not help but agree. Though there was always so much left unsaid.

“I may have noticed that.” He said dryly. “It must have been incredible. To see spirits for their true nature with ease, to not see them so easily twisted and corrupted.”

“Does it bother you? The rifts?” She asked, gazing into his eyes, a concerned look on her face.

“Yes, though not for the reasons you may think. I do not despair at fighting the demons pulled through the rifts, but rather, the warping of their nature as they are drawn through. Spirits can reform from their essence once they are returned to The Fade. It is a kinder fate, though they are often stripped of all but their barest essence, memories gone.” 

“Is there a way to guard a spirit’s memories so they can be reclaimed when they return to The Fade?”

He started at her question. It was an odd one, and there was a strange insistence behind it, despite the casual tone.

“Not that I am aware of. Perhaps, if one had a connection with the spirit before they were corrupted, such a thing might be possible.”

“Is that what the Avvar do? Do they create a cache of memories for their ‘gods’ to reclaim? Or possibly show them the memories in dreams?” She looked at him, a gravity in her unsure gaze.

“Sadly, I do not know. I have not found many memories of the Avvar in my travels.”

She nodded, a strange look on her face. She knew something. Something that would be important. Perhaps he would ask Wisdom.

“It might be worth investigating, falon.”


	15. Well Trod Paths

He slipped into the Fade easily, and set off in search of his oldest friend, taking off through well trod paths his mind could follow with more surety than the lines on his hands.

The Fade had settled since the breach had stabilized, not yet returning to normalcy, but no longer so turbulent.

And there was the matter of overall degradation which had been occurring steadily in both realms since he had created the veil. He had hoped that eventually they would reach an equilibrium, but in the thousands of years he had watched, it had only seemed to worsen as his veil steadily weakened. He was running out of time.

“Good evening lethallin.” She greeted, her warmth a balm on his thoughts. At least she still endured.

“Well. It is evening at least.” He returned. She looked at him a moment, searching.

“I do not have the answers you seek. Are you troubled because it is she who asked?”

“Yes.” He admitted.

“Do you trust her words so fully?” An uncommon curiosity lingered in the question.

“It seems like pride to dismiss them.” He answered, and the curiosity settled.

“Ah. And you would prefer her not see your pride?” She asked with a smile. He would have to think on that particular question further, beyond the scope of this conversation.

“My pride is too tied to my purpose, which she cannot see.” He offered.

“And yet you feel it thrum around her.” She said, and he tilted his head, regarding her words.

“I must be humble and meek to prevent suspicion from her. It has not always been easy.” A smile, small and goading, rose to his mind.

“I see. Too bright, too piercing, a challenge in the shape of the people. Worrying at logic.” She plucked the thoughts, giving them voice and allowing him to sift through them in a new way.

“She must not know anything, but it is difficult to piece precisely what she does know.”

“Have you asked the right questions?”

“I asked her about my foci, and she seemed guileless enough.” He concentrated, pushing the memory and all remembered details towards Wisdom.

_“Closing the breach is our primary goal, but I hope we might also discover what was used to create it. Any artifact of such power is dangerous. The destruction at the Conclave proves that” The memory played._

_“Artifact?” She asked, brows knitting._

_“The last time a hole was torn in the veil, it required seven magisters of unknown power and the blood of thousands. It stands to logic, then, that there must have been some sort of focus to allow such an occurrence.” His voice explained._

_“Oh. Yea, that makes sense. Ugh. I wonder how many of those slaves were elves.” She said, wrinkling her nose._

_“Far too many, most likely. Did you see such a thing?”_

_“I only have tiny shards of memories from that day. I'm sorry Solas.” She looked up, meeting his gaze, honesty writ clear._

_“And you have not seen it in your dreams?”_

_She shrugged noncommittally._

_“I'm sure if it's important, it'll turn up.”_

The memory faded. Wisdom laughed.

“Oh no wonder you are drawn to her.” She said, warmth in her voice

“How do you mean?”

“Marked by your magic, by the Fade, the place you love most and she cannot touch, and much like you.”

“She is little like me.” He countered.

“You will see when you are ready.” It was one of her favorite things to say in his youth, and the tone brought a flood of memories back from much better days. “Now, da’fen, shall we see what wisdom we can find among the Avvar?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something jumped out at me recently while going through some theories- It seems pretty clear that the veil is damaged and failing, and it's only a matter of time before it comes down, or needs to be reinforced.
> 
> Solas mentions that people have changed and are cut off, and this has very literally led to the decline of the Elvhen people, in their lifespans. 
> 
> We also know that The Fade that Solas describes and The Fade that you experience in game are very different. 
> 
> Lastly- we know that Solas plans to do whatever his plan is soon. Why? Why this timing? He's immortal. If there's no imminent danger, he could easily live out the rest of Lavellen's life with her, and then tear down the veil. Unless he thinks it'll restore her immortality? But he kinda says he doesn't expect that. 
> 
> And that means... There's a time factor. The veil is going to fail horribly anyways, or there's a point of no return where they can't be rejoined-something. He wants to turn back, but doesn't see another way. Every alternative was worse, but this one isn't doing so hot either. Maybe things are way more dire than we're allowed to see in game. It very well might be that the veil is destroying both sides, and there really is no alternative.
> 
> Also... I feel like I'm just starting to get a beat on Wisdom's personality, and I can already see that I might wind up rewriting that earlier chapter someday. Hrm.


	16. Thoughts on Dalish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GDI I'm so sorry, I accidentally skipped this chapter in uploading, so fixing that now!

Their party split, and it was hard to deny the relief that washed through him as The Iron Bull parted ways with them along the mountain. Not for the first time, he chafed at his weakened state. He had started to become accustomed to his current constraints, but sometimes, the weakness flared, bright and frustrating. 

They made their way down the beach, finding few of the bandits and several giant spiders, which Thenera, predictably, disliked. He stifled a smile at her nose wrinkling before they entered the cave, and Varric handed her coin for her ‘lucky’ guess after. 

They rejoined the remainder of the party not terribly long after, hours before the day would end, and he cast the spell that would allow her to escape the rain for the evening, which she rejoiced in, another breathy offer given with a wicked twist to her lips. This time there was no vile grass killing substance on her lips, and he demurred before his body demanded he relent.

He caught Thenera’s smile to see The Iron Bull and Krem again. She must know something he did not. Though, she was free with her smiles. He settled within earshot and attempted some basic meditation, unwilling to leave her hapless to the active spy among them.

“No relationships under the Qun! But that means you never get to do the really kinky shit!” Thenera was saying, mirth in her voice. His ears flushed. So much for meditation. 

“Oh I’m sure the boss wouldn’t say that.” Krem said, smirking. The qunari let out a hearty laugh.

“I’ve done plenty of kinky shit. Don’t need to worry about me there.” The giant replied with a rumble, and an assessing look at the tiny elf in front of him. Solas attempted to hold back the ugly thing twisting in him, and kept his face impassive. In fact, she probably thought their conversation couldn’t be heard with his current positioning.

“Yea, but it’s a whole different experience with someone you love. And there’s… More. It’s hard to explain.” Thenera said, clearly speaking from experience. Was she bonded and simply hadn’t said anything? Or if not, what had happened? Though, ultimately, it did not matter. Her role was no different, nor his part. Perhaps the thing that had begun to form between them was simply him, misconstruing her nature. Perhaps he could let it rest at just that.

“I’ll have to take your word on it, Boss.” He said, patting her arm. 

“I hope you find out someday Bull. I expect you will.” She smiled, without the wickedness he would have expected from her, and she went back to a conversation with Cassandra and Harding. With the distraction momentarily gone, he nearly managed to to drift into a meditative state. He had read all the books brought on this journey, as it was only possible to travel with so many. 

He tried not to think of what she would consider kinky, or who she had referenced when speaking of love. It should not have surprised him so much. She was beautiful, kind, graceful, and confident. She had spoken with obvious experience during their interludes, and enjoyed flirting, and certainly not so young she would not have had the chance. He could certainly not have been the only one to see her better qualities. And apparently, not the only one to catch her eye.

She returned later carrying a gold and green amulet, worrying it in her palms through dinner. He tried to give her space, letting her talk and laugh with the others, but one by one, they left her section of the campfire. He sat. 

“You seem more pensive than usual.” He stated softly. “Why?”

“Because with this, we can save the lives of most of the bandits and turn them to Inquisition agents.” He looked at the amulet. It seemed strange to be connected to a band of killers and thieves, far too fine.

“Why does that cause you discomfort?” He asked as she traced her thumb over the green stone.

“Because to do it, I’ll have to challenge the leader to one on one combat.” She admitted, sounding wary. “And I’m an archer, not a warrior. I’m not even the stabby kind of rogue that can do close quarters. I’m going to have to be very smart. And possibly very lucky.”

Solas frowned. She was worried. Possibly even afraid. She saw the weight of the decision in front of her and was trying to find the right path. She didn’t know. Were there multiple options in her dreams? Did she sometimes see the same thing in different ways? And if she knew she would win one on one, why the worry? If, as it seemed, it was an uncertain thing, the scale tipped obviously. She had the anchor. She was indispensable.

“In that case, would it be wiser to utilize our entire force and simply eliminate the bandit camp?”

“I don’t know. It would be safer…. But I’m loathe to kill so many when I know there’s an alternative.” She raked a hand through her hair, clutching it for a moment before releasing and returning to worrying at the amulet.

“A difficult choice to make. However, it is not only your life at stake should you fail against the leader. You are the only one who can seal the breach, and on your shoulders, rests the hopes of all.” She was far too precious. The weight of this small fight should not belong to her, and yet, he could see it would have to.

“Yea. No pressure.” She breathed, lips tightening in a familiar line. “Can we talk about something else? I’ll decide in the morning.”

“Of course, da’len. What would you speak of?” He would not press. It had not helped last time, and there was so much he wanted to ask. So much she wouldn’t tell him if he destroyed her trust too soon. 

“Can you tell me your thoughts on the Dalish?” She asked. His lips curled in a smirk. Of all the topics she could have picked, she had to choose the one that would raise his ire. Maddening.

“I thought you’d be more interested in sharing your opinions, da’len. You are Dalish, are you not?” He threw a pointed look at her vallaslin, and her tension disappeared into a smile.

“What’s wrong with that? Allergic to Halla?” She grinned and quirked a brow in challenge. He inhaled as he felt his blood begin to boil at her cavalier goading.

“They are children acting out stories misheard and misremembered a thousand times.” He said contemptuously. 

“Are we really so bad? I only know what the two clans I’ve been a part of are like, beyond gatherings at the Arlathvhen.” Her smile turned a touch contrite, and the added mystery deflated his anger.

“You have been a part of two clans? That is quite uncommon for a non mage.” He asked, momentarily diverted.

“You expect any less than uncommon from me? I’ll tell you the story sometime, but not tonight.” She promised. Something behind her words pinged painfully, and he wondered if it had anything to do with her conversation earlier with Bull. Then not bonded, most likely. There was no rush, he decided.

“Very well. Yes. Clan Lavellen is unique in having enough interest in human affairs to send you to spy upon the Divine’s meeting. As your clans have been separate for so long, they have all changed, adapting to the lands in which they live. Some are no more than bandits, others trade freely with humans, and some have disappeared entirely into the forests.” He explained, and she nodded thoughtfully.

“That sounds about right. Why are you so bitter about the Dalish?” She pressed.

“I have already answered that.” He answered, trying not to allow his temper to flare again.

“But you know the truth of things?” She asked guilelessly. 

“While they pass on stories, mangling details, I walk The Fade. I have seen things they have not.” Bitterness lingered on his tongue.

“I’m sure my Keeper and our First would love to hear the truth of things. Have you tried talking to the clans?” She offered. His lips tightened.

“Yes. Many times over the years. They turn me away in pride, or suspicion.” Memories of being chased off with threats and spells played, or being run from in abject fear. His bitterness deepened. 

“Did you visit them in person or in The Fade?” She asked, surprising him with her perception. Did she already know the answer to this question? Had this whole conversation been a replay of a dream?

“In The Fade. I have seen the cruelty they can inflict on outsiders, and did not wish to risk my life for the chance at their enlightenment.” He spoke, and her face broke into a smile. His brows furrowed. 

“So. You visited them in dreams, a humble mage offering knowledge?” Her smile widened. “You do know why they refused right?” He glowered as her smile broke into a hearty laugh. He had guesses, and fragments, but the Dalish were savages pretending at People and their ignorance was only outstripped by their need to know more than any outsider could offer. He could hardly fathom their reasons.

“I do not. Why are you laughing?” 

“Because that’s how Fen’Harel comes, Solas.” She kept laughing. “He comes in dreams and offers knowledge for a price. And the price is always steeper than it first appears.” He glowered as the blood drained from his face. How could he be so thoughtless? They were as ignorant about him as about everything else, and with the stories they mangled, and the punishments given in his name...

“That… Would certainly explain some things. I had not considered it.” If he was a more forgiving man, he might consider a new guise and new approach. But he was not. The Dalish had squandered everything given to them and yet claimed to speak for the people. And yet… This woman, this dream, this not quite wisp. Was there some hope yet for them?

“If we ever get the chance, I would love to take you to my clan so you can teach them.” She smiled, and knocked her shoulder against his, breaking his thoughts. The touch was gentle and warm. How long had it been since he had been touched, physically, with any regularity? Truly, it had been thousands of years. And this creature was so soft.

“I… I think I would like that. If we ever get the chance.” He mused. Perhaps her clan held some hope yet, if she had come from it. Or perhaps he would be disappointed yet again.


	17. Graceful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry... It's in the right order now! But I lost all of the original comments T.T

Graceful.

It wasn’t the first time he had thought the word while watching Thenera move. The leader of the Blades of Hessarian was a brute, who looked as though he could tear her in pieces and use her bones as toothpicks, and yet…

She danced, pale hair flying as she stayed just out of his reach, forcing him to storm and rage and move clumsily, while she moved like a light shadow, flashes of green and pink like a twisting opal in his peripheral vision.

He froze another hound, and heard Cassandra call out. Thenera wasted no time dropping a smokebomb and darting around the leader. Most would use the chance to run further, but not her. She ran behind him, feet sure and true, dropping her dagger in the gravelly sand of the camp as she drew her bow.

She stopped behind a crate, boxed in between it and the simple walls of the camp. She raised her bow carefully, her face serene and sure as she took a steadying breath. The smoke cleared as she did, and the leader looked out, bumbling and crude, in the wrong direction. When his eyes didn’t yield the prize he sought, he whipped around, landing heavily, ungainly, mouth open in rage as he spotted the tiny silver creature who had pointed out his ineptitude. 

She released the arrow, and it struck him mid cry. Without fanfare, she shot him again through the throat, and watched him hit the sand in an ugly thud, blood turning black as it hit the wet earth. He wondered why on Thedas he had worried about her in the first place. She was sure, and it was folly to see her beauty as fragility, or her frame as less than tempered steel. She was strong enough, and he was a fool not to see it until now. 

They made camp that evening further South, after recruiting the remaining members of The Blades, just as she had said they could. 

Thenera’s mood broke with her victory, and there was singing and rejoicing, and she hummed while she made stew for their whole party, Bull helping her carry back the ram she’d slain. He had felt the tug of the mark as she went, able to at least make sure no harm came to the anchor. The qunari still made him uneasy, but he could hardly insult her by trailing her every time they spoke together. Some of the scouts had discovered several varieties of local potato, some sweet and some starchy, and she mixed them together to great effect in the communal pot with the ram. 

As people drifted off towards their tents, or cups, he settled next to her, as had become their routine. 

“How are you getting along with Bull?” She asked with a sly smile, as though reading his mind. It was unsettling, though no longer as maddening as it had once been.

“I cannot fathom why you would trust a qunari spy. Especially enough to go off hunting with him alone.” He replied honestly. “I can only venture that you know something I do not.”

“You two will be friends someday.” She glanced at him, all secrets and mirth. 

“I can hardly see such a thing.” He scoffed, hoping to provoke an explanation.

“Solas. Have you ever met a Qunari before?” She asked, eyebrow quirked as she so often did.

“No. What I have seen in The Fade is quite enough.” He met her gaze, challenging. The Fade had offered a quite complete view of their brutality, and the suffering of those living day to day under the Qun. 

“You might want to give others a chance to surprise you.” She said, placing a hand on his arm, just for a brief moment before she pulled away, and his pulse sped.

“Why would I, when you surprise me so often, lethallan?” He responded, voice a bit huskier than he had intended.

“Would it truly be so terrible to be wrong, lethallin? Every time you’re wrong is a chance to learn something new.” Her voice dropped lower too, coaxing and so soft.

“While I suppose that is true, it is often wearying to expect changes that never come.” Exhaustion laced his voice as reason pulled him back from their creeping moment of intimacy.

“I know you don’t, but you can trust me on this. I mean, don’t go giving all your secrets to him tomorrow or anything. But you don’t need to keep your hackles up around him. Bull is good people. Plus, it’s nice having another perv around.” She shot him one of her wicked grins, and he rolled his eyes at her. Interesting, yet apt, word choice.

“You sound far too fond of him.” He chided. “He is a self admitted spy for a nation that would gladly rule Thedas.”

“I am. Did you not note my expression this time, like you did with Sera? But if I absolutely had to; if Bull betrayed the Inquisition, I would kill him. It would hurt, terribly, but I could. I don’t think I could if you did.” She let the admission slip, gazing into his eyes with a starkness that was difficult to bear. He felt a knife twist. Wrong, all wrong. To be worried about a potential betrayal when his was sure. He did not deserve this sentiment. 

“I noted it. That is where my concern stemmed from. I suppose, lethallan, it is time for us to retire.” He had to get away, to refocus on his goals and release the guilt of this dream’s trust. It was a useful thing, and he could not deny such a tool for the sake of his guilt. 

“The Fade calls.” She responded, with that soft sad look she got anytime they spoke of the dreams she couldn’t touch.

“Indeed. Dareth Shiral.” He rose, and headed to the tent he shared with Varric.

“Dareth Shiral, falon.”

He shed his armor, creating a tidy pile for the morning, and settled into his bedroll.

With a start, he remembered the look on her face when they had first met, when he grasped her hand and pulled the anchor to the rift. Awe and so many things swirling on her face that made no sense at the time. 

Dread filled him.


	18. Fingerprints

“Hey Chuckles, think you can find our winsome Herald?” Varric asked as the meal was nearly prepared. “I’m not a great tracker, and I think she’d prefer you finding her anyways.”

“What causes you to believe that, Master Tethras?”

“Really?” The dwarf gave him an incredulous look. “Wow. For someone so smart, you’re pretty dense sometimes. She seems like she’s got some stuff on her mind. Go out and find her. Spend some quality time in the woods. I’ve heard that’s an elf thing.”

Solas rolled his eyes, but he could feel the pull of the anchor, and he would be the one who could find the Dalish hunter and spy with the most certainty. And her mood had seemed odd.

“You do realize I’m not Dalish? I shall attempt to find our Herald, but will not make any guarantees.” He wound his way out of their sprawling camp. She had began the day laughing and joking, singing a song to The Iron Bull about dragons and virgins that was quite inappropriate while those within earshot laughed. And then something had shifted, and she’d withdrawn. This was the first time she had strayed so far from camp unless hunting.

He spotted her on a rock outcropping overlooking Lake Calenhad. The sun was low, golden fire reflecting off the water, snow gleaming on the peaks behind her. She sat, simply taking in the view. 

As he approached, he noted that she was cradling her marked hand. She turned to face him as he came close, and he noticed her eyes were red, and her expression stark, no trace of her usual mirth, or even resolve.

“I have been told to retrieve our Herald.” He said. “Though Varric may have added something colorful about elves in the woods or some nonsense. Are you alright? This is not a familiar pattern for you.”

“I realized how long it’s been since I’ve spent time alone in the wilderness. It was how I spent most of my time with Lavellen, alone in the woods and hunting. I didn’t realize how much I missed it and needed it until today.” She spoke slowly, carefully. Solas sat beside her. They had some time before the group became suspicious.

“Yes. I find myself not quite sure what to do with so many people around at all times.” After millenia alone and dreaming, rarely with more than one presence around him at a time, having so many conflicting voices was often overwhelming. Meditation and reading were one of the only ways he had avoided headache through this leg of the trip, though the Waking Sea had been worse, with fewer to distract Sera.

“It’s… Odd. I was thinking earlier how happy I was and how much this reminded me of my clan, of family. And then something in me broke, and I was thinking of my hand, pulsing this energy through my veins, and how it will most likely kill me. And I just desperately needed to get away from everyone so at peace.” She rubbed at her palm, and he winced. 

Mortals were not meant to carry the weight of this. His mark, his anchor. And she would pay the price. It very well might kill her. And yet… If he had been able to choose among the shemlen, it would be no other.

“Does it pain you?” He asked softly, not trusting his voice to carry more weight. She glanced at him beneath long lashes and nodded.

“Sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes it thrums for hours and it feels caustic. Sometimes there are more important things and it fades into the background.” She answered, far too much sadness laced into the words. What visions was she seeing? 

“May I take a look?” He reached out, and she placed the anchor in his hands. He traced a few fingers across the mark, feeling it crackle and thrum angrily. He sent out a tentative trickle of mana, and felt it respond. He added more, coaxing the mark to calm, feeling a flutter in himself as her eyes drifted closed and her mouth softened. He found he couldn’t pull his eyes away. After a few moments, her eyes opened again, shocking in their intensity.

“Thank you.” She said, voice rough, drawing another unwelcome flutter. “Who knew magic would be so magical?” He chuckled in response.

“I take it that helped?” He asked, giving her a small smile. He would have to be more cognizant of this in the future, and ease the suffering she bore on his account whenever necessary. She nodded, squeezing his hands in thanks.

“Oh. How did you find me? Can you sense the anchor?” She asked, and he nodded affirmation.

“It is bright with the energy of The Fade. As Fade magic is my specialty, your whereabouts are usually known to me. Though, I have been unsuccessful at finding you in The Fade, which is… Odd.” His eyes narrowed. He had not meant to give her quite so much, but perhaps this would lead to learning more himself in response.

“I did tell you. I don’t think I go to The Fade when I sleep. I'm not even sure I can.” She said, a familiar sadness tinging her words. “How long ago did you first try?”

“I confess, it was as you lay unconscious in the cell of Haven. And again after the Pride demon, and the night after you first told me of your dreams.” He said, attempting to sound contrite. “I thought I might prove it untrue, and sought an explanation. When I could find no trace, with the anchor’s energy as a beacon, and your own so bright besides, I was at a loss.”

“Well. It’s probably a good thing you couldn’t.” She smiled, so bright after the heavy moment it was nearly shocking. “When I’m not having future dreams, there are a lot of sex dreams.” She winked, and he barked out a startled laugh.

“Then I confess some relief.” He only half lied. His traitorous thoughts drifted to what that might look like, and felt his ears heat.

“Definitely would have been awkward when we’d only known each other a few days.” She smirked, and he could almost see the challenge writ on her face.

“Are you saying it wouldn’t be awkward now?” He asked, unsure what to do with either answer.

“Less awkward at least. Especially now that you’ve been warned.” She waggled her brows at him dramatically, playing with him. 

His heart stammered awkwardly, and the expression she wore when they first met flashed through his thoughts. There was still a little time before they had to return. He could ask her this one thing. 

“Thenera. There’s… Something else I’ve been meaning to ask you.” He said hesitantly. She nodded, encouraging. “I have now seen you react to two new members of our group, and it has caused me to reevaluate our first meeting.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widened, and her breath hitched. She hadn’t known to be guarded then. What had she seen when she looked at him that first time, piercing with Fade green eyes?

“I thought perhaps it was shock. But the look you gave me… What was it exactly?” He held her gaze, searching.

“I… I’m not sure how exactly I can answer that or if I should.” She considered, brows knitting, and she twisted her fingers through each other as she searched for the right words. “The anchor was pulling energy through me, and suddenly a dozen bits of dream lined up in your face. It was… Intense.” She held his gaze, and again, there was so much, far more than she had told him. 

“What pieces of dreams?” He asked, hoping to coax more from her.

“I… Don’t think I should tell anyone their futures. It could still be different this time; though.. Nothing of note has been. Or I could cause something else to happen that changes the whole outcome. I think… I think I can tell you this. Sera and I will fight about elfyness, but we’ll be close friends, and might flirt occasionally. Bull will be like a brother to me. And you?” She struggled, searching desperately for the right words to say enough without saying too much. “There are people who are important. There are people you love and would happily give your life for. And then there are people who leave their fingerprints on your soul.”

Fenedhis.

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in, and met her gaze, attempting to divine the exact meaning of those words. She looked at him, a complicated mix of things still swirling, and far more vulnerable than he had seen her yet. 

Beyond the kind of love where you would sacrifice yourself for the other. Or, possibly different from. She didn’t specify love of any kind, only a strong bond. A strong bond that did not break, that left a permanent mark.

In a literal sense, she was marked by him. Fingerprints on her soul. It could not be allowed to pass that way now. The only mark he could leave was ash and pain. He could not drag her down with him on his din’anshiral. 

“We should return, before Varric can make any more comments about our time in the woods.” His voice was rough, revealing far too much. He schooled himself to neutrality, and stood. 

They returned to camp in silence, and Varric just watched with a measured look. He was sure to hear about it later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song I mentioned is "Do Virgins Taste Better" by Brobdingnagian Bards, which is terrible and hilarious, one I sing at faire occasionally. Bull would love it. 
> 
> Also, Varric meddling is my favorite.


	19. Avoiding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may be my only chapter on this today, sorry! Something hit me like a brick wall and I just slept for 20 hours, so not much time to write yet today. We'll see. I may post the next one later tonight....

He avoided her as best he could. With the anchor in her palm, alerting him of her presence, it was both harder and easier. Easier because he could conveniently not be home if she approached his cabin, which she did, and there was no chance of accidentally bumping into her throughout the town.

Harder, because the anchor sang, calling him, drawing him to her presence, and it was far more difficult to retreat to solitude after becoming so accustomed to their conversations. She had worked her way under some of his barriers, and Haven felt much colder with them firmly back in place.

Falon. She saw him as a friend, and unwittingly, he had come to think of her in much the same way. He missed her. Her quick smile, her rumbling laugh, the way her brows moved so expressively in mirth and amusement. Her grace. Her odd questions and secretive looks. Her brief touches. It had been so jarring, to be touched after so long asleep, and now that he had started becoming accustomed, he felt the absence more keenly. It would be so easy to be selfish, to allow himself this one small attachment, but the cost would be high, and he would not be the only one paying it. As always.

A knock broke his reverie, one not attached to the anchor. Perhaps it was the apothecary, come to request more herbs, as he sometimes did. 

He rose to answer the door, and found instead, the rather insistent Child of Stone.

“Ah, Master Tethras, to what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“Hey Chuckles! Just came to invite you to dinner. Glowy seems to be under the assumption you’re busy, but I figured you might want to come.”

“I am sorry, I am quite busy with research tonight. Would you please offer my apologies?”

“Oh come on now, I’ve given up pretending to understand the elves of the Inquisition, but if anyone can pull her out of this funk, it’s you. She’s barely wiggling her eyebrows!”

“I am unsure why you would be under that impression. She is a friend, but she confides in you, does she not? And she seems to have made many friends in our traveling group. I’m certain my presence is unnecessary.”

“Look. I don’t know what you have going on in that Fade locked head of yours, but you have the chance at something good in this crazy screwed up world. You care, and she cares. It doesn’t have to be more complicated than that.” He took in Solas’ impassive face. “Or who knows, maybe you’re some sort of crazy elf shaped construct. Andraste’s tits.”

“I am sorry to disappoint you Master Tethras, but we are not in one of your novels. If you will please excuse me, I have important matters to attend to.” He closed the door gently, releasing a hot breath.

How obvious had he been? Had they both been? She flirted freely, she should have the chance to pursue someone who would not break her heart in the end. And she… She was not quite real. Closer than any he’d seen since waking, but almost real was not sufficient basis for a romantic entanglement. 

The next day, he felt a distinct lack of the anchor coming close. It seemed she was now avoiding him as well. That was good, despite the twist in his stomach that attempted to convince him otherwise. He went out and gathered herbs, thinking perhaps it would be best to stay away from the town and its myriad temptations, and he brought his sketchbook to the lake, to practice stone and ice textures. 

He sat, satchel of elfroot and embrium next to him, and he laid out his charcoal. It was easier to get swept up in the smooth lines of the ice, of the delicate stippling needed to convey the stone properly. He let his mind drift to details only, how best to show the vein of green in the boulder there, the distortion of the light rippling on solid water. He was so absorbed, in fact, that he didn’t notice the presence of the anchor growing steadily closer until she was within sight.

He froze. So much for his careful avoidance. She seemed frozen too, as though she had been caught at something ill conceived. 

“Did you know I would be here, Thenera?” He called to her. Chagrined, she moved forward, coming within the sphere of conversational tones.

“If I had I wouldn’t be here intruding on your privacy, Solas.” Her cloak swayed in the breeze, lifting her silvery hair from her face as it did, and he noted that she was carrying something. A book perhaps? “I can find somewhere else to sketch.”

Wisdom’s words echoed in his mind. She had thought of the exact same spot for the same purpose. He had to leave before his resolve cracked, and he asked to see her work, asked if she had seen this place in dreams.

“Please feel free to stay. I should be heading back soon regardless.” He began shuffling his things back together, and she made a small surprised sound as bundled his charcoal back into an oilskin pouch.

“Oh.” She breathed. “I’ve never seen your sketches. I didn’t know you ever worked from live studies.”

He looked at her. She was maddening still, hinting at pieces of truth she would not give. What of his work had she possibly seen? If she had seen any of his murals up until now, she knew the truth of him. But that could not be. “I find it easier to see the truth I wish to depict later if I study the real thing. What have you seen of my work?”

“I’ve seen some of your murals. They’re incredible.” She said, a ghost of a gleaming smile on her face. “Or, they will be, I guess.”

Will be. She had seen the work that was yet to come? There was no place in Haven suited for it, though he had looked. And she had specified murals, and not sketches, or paintings. Murals. No. He could not stay and question her. He could not spoil her with his ashen fingerprints. He looked at his hands as they finished packing the last of his accoutrements, and the charcoal smudging them seemed only fitting. 

She moved to sit across from him, further out onto the rock ledge, leaving the way behind clear to leave.

“Solas… Why do you keep running away from me?” There was a softness, a touch of hurt, that pulled something sharply. Something he hadn’t realized was there. What could he say? She deserved a better fate than she had been thrust into, and better than his fascination and half truths. She was a bright point, strong and soft, sweet and ruthless, and very nearly real. But not one of the people.

“You are… Fascinating and complex. The knowledge you carry both excites and repels me, and it would be too easy to become caught up in the enigma. You deserve better.” 

“Ah.” Her voice cracked, and the sharp thing in him twisted. She stared into the mark on her palm, not knowing that it was a direct tie to him. “Then I’ll stop distracting you with it, I suppose. Probably shouldn’t have to begin with.” She stood to leave. The twisting thing needed her to know that it was not her inadequacies.

“Thenera… You are not only that.” 

“I know. I’m too much and not enough, always, and sometimes both at the same time.” She said with a bitter smile, eyes too bright and beginning to swell. “Have a nice day, Solas.”

She left. 

He stayed. 

Until the sun dipped low, and she was sure to be ensconced in other matters. Until he was relatively certain he would not follow her, and tell her all the ways she was enough, and it was he who was lacking. 

It would always end badly.


	20. Real

He settled down with his journal, marking as many notes as possible about the time disturbance Thenera had warned him of. It seemed to hold some link to the breach, but he was unsure precisely how, and it was woven in with new, unfamiliar energies as well. Very unstable. And certainly not linked to the enigma in the room next to him, the flavor was different.

He heard gentle splashing through the wall. Fenedhis. If he had realized they were quite so paper thin, he would have stayed downstairs with the others until the distraction passed. He had hoped for some time alone to order his thoughts, but a small contented sound wafted through the wall, pulling them to chaos instead. 

It was tempting to cast a sound barrier over her room, just for the sake of his concentration, but she would surely notice. 

He heard a loud thud. Far too loud, and then a cut off curse. The energy from the anchor flared erratically.

He was at her open door with his staff before he realized he made the decision. 

He saw her thrashing violently, water and hair and pale limbs flying, and then still. Blotchy and red and… Still.

Oh no, oh no it couldn’t be, couldn’t. His steps faltered, and sped again.

The man with the cord around her neck burst into flames from the inside as the desperation tore out of him and lashed through the assassin. She fell forward into the tub, face landing in the water. Unmoving. The anchor was weakening, drifting away. Panic rose in howl. It couldn’t end like this. 

He made it to the tub, brushing past the coals, ash sickly in the air, and pulled her head from the water, unwinding the cord around her neck with trembling fingers. An angry purple indent was left underneath, so small to be responsible for this. He pushed his mana into her, wishing there was someone he could pray to. She couldn't be gone. Couldn't. She had just smiled at him over dinner, had just heard her make soft noises during her bath. And to think they were unwelcome.

A rattled, sucking breath flooded him with relief. He pushed more of his energy into her, and her body responded eagerly, their familiar bond making her more receptive. Her eyelids began fluttering, and he saw the blood pooling there, and concentrated his magic in her eyes. He wasn’t sure he could stand the sight of them so wounded. Tears began to well and spill as the redness receded. 

“Thenera, please, rest. I’m working as quickly as I’m able.” He wove soothing tones into his voice as carefully as possible, but it was strained. She opened her mouth, as if to speak, and her brows strained in pain. She closed it again, giving him the smallest hint of a nod as tears continued to streak down her face.

He concentrated. There was the obvious throat trauma, the subsequent damage to her eyes, head trauma, and a smattering of bruises over the whole of her body.

His breath hitched, and he focused on healing her throat next. His fingers were still trembling, and he jerked back as she started at the touch on her ruined throat. He coaxed her into healing, realizing too late just how much mana he had been using.

And then he hit a brick wall. Fenedhis. It had been ages since he had lost control so thoroughly that he spent nearly all his magic with one burst. One time when should have been more judicious, more level headed, and he could heal her more. 

She opened her eyes to meet his, and his heart dropped. They were wide, confused, still bloody and red and leaking tears down into the bath. If only he had paid more attention downstairs. If only he hadn’t pushed her away so thoroughly. If only he had his full powers, he could have healed her fully. If only she didn’t have the mark, there would be no assassins after her in the first place. If only, if only, if only. 

She reached out, running her wet fingers over his jawline, so gentle, as though she was comforting him, and he felt his eyes begin to water. He noticed, for the first time, that there was a spot, a tiny pinprick of red brown ochre, just below the pupil of the left eye. He had never been close enough to see it. 

There was a rushing sound, and several familiar footsteps made it to the room. He didn’t look up, he was locked in her gaze and unable and unwilling to break away from it. 

“We heard-” Blackwall called, falling into uncomfortable silence as he took in the scene. The sound seemed to pull Thenera from her tears, and she glanced at him before turning back to Solas. The Warden had turned around, not willing to look at Thenera in her current state.

Oh. Yes. Bathtub. Her skin was still mottled with red spots, but creamy and soft. And he was touching her, pulling his magic through her. He felt his cheeks heat, and she almost smiled, fingers tracing the lines of his flushed skin, a strange disconnected look in her eyes.

“Uh. What happened?” Varric asked. “There’s water everywhere, Glowy is naked, and there’s a charred body on the floor?”

“Looks like they had a party and didn’t invite us.” Bull said, and it was quite lucky Solas was out of mana to lash at the Qunari. 

“Assassin.” Solas’ eyes moved from hers to look at Varric. “I heard a strange noise from her room as I was reading, and found Thenera unconscious, and a Tevinter agent, possibly one of the Venatori, with a cord around her neck. I took care of him. You arrived as I was healing the worst of her injury, though I fear she has a concussion.”

“Shit.” Varric said, studying the room and the mess to avoid looking too closely at their compromised Herald. “So much for a nice quiet night sleeping in a real bed.”

Thenera started giggling, tinged with mania but still painfully, blessedly alive. And so very her to laugh in the face of terror. 

“Well at least she hasn’t lost her sense of humor.” Their new warden recruit said humorlessly. 

“Someone is gonna need to stay with Boss for the night. We’ll need to get out of here as soon as we can, but she’s going to need to be watched until the concussion wears off.” The Ben Hassrath offered, as though he was about to volunteer.

“I will. I can also heal her as my mana repletes.” Solas said. He carefully reached into the tub, linking one arm under her knees and one under her arms, scooping her out of the bath as her laughs subsided and she threw her arms around his neck sloppily. She seemed utterly unconcerned to be naked, though it did seem that only Bull was even looking. He set her carefully on the bed, in a sitting position so she wouldn’t fall asleep, and averted his eyes while he searched for a linen towel that hadn’t been ruined or soaked. He managed after a moment, finally getting the full picture of the mess and destruction in the room, and wrapped her in it. He caught her gaze again, unfocused and balanced perilously between screams and laughter.

“Ths is what I get for thnkin I dserve nice thngs.” She slurred. She giggled again. 

“Riiiiight.” Bull said. “I’ll take first watch outside the door.” 

With that, they shuffled out, leaving him with her. He tried to pull from his mana again, but it hadn’t had enough time to restore. He realized with a start that she should have elfroot potions in her pack, and he dug through, trying not to focus on the other belongings he might be touching, and handed one to her after opening it.

“Drink.” 

“Onl if you say plese.” She giggled again. She would be maddening even now. 

“Please Thenera.” He said seriously. He realized too late he should have simply tipped it to her lips, but their forced distance was so engrained… The sheet fell as she reached for it, and he made sure to study the ceiling as she put it to her lips carefully, seeming to have some difficulties. 

“Didja kno you cant see yor mouth whn you drnk somthin?” She managed, and he waited for her to drink it and feel the effects wash through her. He heard fabric rustle, and gazed at her again, confusion lifted from her face and covered again. She took in the room, and he gave her time to process. Her gaze settled on him again, complicated and sad.

“Thank you.” She said, voice still rough. His pulse sped. ”I'm sorry. I didn't know that would happen. I…” She trailed off and he saw tears well again.

“You're sorry someone tried to kill you?” He asked. 

“We never stay in taverns in my dreams. I guess this is why.” She said, regret laced through each word. No, this precious creature should not have to hold on to that. She continued in a rush, tears beginning to fall again, “I'm sorry I put you in this position with my carelessness.”

He rushed forwards, crushing her slight frame against his, reveling in her. She was solid, she was alive. She was real.

“I feared we had lost you. Please don't apologize, da'len.” He choked out, voice rasping.

“Yea. Whole world could have been jeopardized because I wanted a hot bath and a bed.” She mumbled, hot tears working their way through his tunic. Which was soaked, one of her least favorite things. And she was beginning to shake with cold. He pulled back, and she whimpered, nearly causing him to pull her back despite himself. She thought she had been selfish.

“It seems I am the one being selfish. You're freezing. And I know how you hate wet clothing against your skin. Please direct me to where I can find your bedclothes.” 

She gestured to her pack, weakly, a tremor wracking her as she did. He crossed the small room and began unpacking her things, finding the silver grey nightgown with ease, rolled into a messy ball among her similarly packed things. He would remember the feel of it in his fingers anywhere, after that night in Val Royeaux. 

He brought it back, setting it on the bed next to her, and kneeled before this dream, this moonlight given form. He found a corner of the linen that was unlikely to pull the remainder of the towel from her body, and began gently drying her legs and feet, verifying that all of her bruises and splotches were healed, and wishing he could place his lips in a trail following the sheet. He took his time, allowing himself this temporary dream, that perhaps things could be as simple as him caring for her, just for the night. Far too soon, her legs were dry, and he moved on to her arms. The anchor flared, angry as he passed over it, and she shivered.

He raised his eyes to meet hers, feeling the thread between them thrum with electricity, pulling taut. He wanted, desperately, to wrap himself around her and keep her safe. He pulled back, turning his attention to the bundle of cloth next to her. He unrolled it, finding the direction it needed to go, and motioned for her to hold her hands up. He lowered it over her, and once her arms and head were clear of the fabric, he brought her hands to rest on his shoulders. His settled on her ribcage under her arms, and he helped her stand so the soft fabric could fall around her legs, and the sheet dropped with a whisper around her pale feet. A tremor wracked her body before he could embrace her again, and he hurriedly bundled her in every blanket in the room.

“I should be able to do more to help soon.” He promised, voice rough and thick. 

“You should put on something dry too, Solas.” Her voice nearly startled him, unusually tender and soft. And he had completely forgotten about his wet clothing.

“Yes, I suppose I should.” He fretted, not wanting to leave her, even for a moment. 

“I'll be ok. Besides, if anyone tried anything right now, we'd both be screwed. I'm a shuddering mess and you're out of mana.” Her exhaustion was apparent, but she offered him a smile anyways, tinged with wickedness. “Or you could just take them off and join the sheet club.”

“You must be feeling better if you're making inappropriate jokes.” He responded, and a returning smile hovered on his lips. He began wrapping the body in some of the ruined linens. If he was going to change, it would be best to do before.

“Loads.” She replied, bravado not quite masking the shakiness. “Too bad loads better from ‘nearly strangled to death’ still sucks.” 

“Then allow me to return in a moment with dry clothing. I should be able to heal a bit more then. Is the anchor bothering you?” He stood after covering the remains, watching her face.

“Yea. Been hurting all day. The time rifts are rough.” She grimaced weakly.

“Why didn’t you ask for my assistance earlier?” 

“Stubbornness and pride.” She responded bluntly. “I… It’s hard for me to ask for help. Harder still when it’s clear it’s an obligation.”

He had told himself he would ease this for her, and then pushed her away. If the anchor killed her due to his own negligence… It was unacceptable. 

“Thenera. Never put your pride over pain for me.” He said quietly, urgency behind each word. 

“I’ll try.” She answered, in a tone that seemed dubious of her success.


	21. Loathe to Leave

He returned in clean clothes, having taken far too long to speak with the others about the plan, and anxious to have her in his sight. He found her slumped over and half asleep, and nearly thought of just letting her sleep, now that the concussion at least had been healed. But she was still, as she said, a mess.

“Someday I’m gonna make you some clothes that Dorian and Vivienne won’t make fun of.” She mumbled. Of all the things for her to focus on right now.

“I spoke with the others. Varric was kind enough to sort things out with the innkeep, and convince him that everything was fine. I believe there was a bribe involved.” He said to her unfocused gaze.

“Varric is so good. Yay.” She said into the blankets, not moving.

“Bull assured me that he and Blackwall will come take care of the remains during the night.” 

“Oh goody.” She said, and a hard shudder wracked her body. He crossed to her swiftly, reaching out to feel what damage yet remained. It was too much, and the anchor was still crackling. He grabbed the remaining elfroot potion from her pack. Why had they packed so few?

“Drink this.” He opened it and placed it in her hands as she sat up weakly.

“Aren’t our stores running low? We won’t be able to restock until we get back to Haven. I can handle this. I’m even back to making inappropriate comments. Have two more saved for the right opportunity” She said, clearly deflecting. The elfroot was clearly intended for something else. 

“This takes priority. I won’t be able to fully heal you myself. Please Thenera.” He urged. She made a face as though she meant to argue further, and thought better of it. She sat up and brought the bottle to her lips, and he watched the potion work through her, shaking subsiding and posture returning to normal. 

“Is the anchor still bothering you?” He asked. She nodded reluctantly. He reached for her hand, and she placed it in his. He traced his fingers over it, reaching out with his mana, confirming what his cursory glance had shown. “I see. It does feel different than usual, tainted somehow.” 

He concentrated, weaving his magic through her palm, pulling the crackling, dissonant threads from it and soothing it. She let out a small moan of relief, a blush spreading as she realized the sound had come from her, and he flushed in return. She looked up shyly.

“Thank you Solas.” She murmured. He nodded, and the protective thing in him surged as she fell back into the bed. “We should sleep.”

“You certainly should. I fear this room was not meant to accommodate separate sleeping arrangements, and unfortunately, the floor has been soaked.” 

“Do you want to go back to your room with Varric?” She asked, and he realized there was no chance he was leaving again this evening.

“I would be loathe to leave you right now.” He said, and she smiled, bright and true and so very Thenera. She moved closer to the wall, patting the space she had just vacated. He was exhausted, but there were too many ways for this to end badly. Perhaps it would be best if he didn’t sleep. 

“I will be fine. I can nap a little at the desk if need be.” He offered.

“Solas. You’re our only healer, and without you, this mark will kill me. You need to sleep. What did you say earlier about pride?” His lips tightened in consternation. She would use his own words against him. He nodded, and very carefully laid down beside her, not touching so the part of himself that wanted little more than to wrap his arms around her would gain no leverage. He settled himself into repose after drawing the blankets over them, knowing it would be some time before he could drift into The Fade, despite the exhaustion.

She twisted into a strange position, one arm under her pillow, and one knee pulled up to meet her other elbow, and settled her calf against his hip. He flinched, pulse spiking as his control was already tested.

She made a contented noise, something small and sweet that sent blood rushing from his brain, and she promptly fell asleep, leaving him scrambling to still his thoughts enough to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter is short, but uploading the next one right after this!


	22. Desire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE'VE FINALLY MADE IT TO SMUT
> 
> So... Skip this chapter if you don't want it. 
> 
> First time using any long Elvhen. It took.... Waaaaaaay too long, so please appreciate.
> 
> Also, this is the first smut I've ever published so please concrit/tell me if you want more/less/ whatever.
> 
> Update: Edited and added some stuff!
> 
> Update again! Finally finished this painting that I've been working on a bit at a time since I started this scene? I hope you like it!
> 
>  
> 
> <https://dirthenera.tumblr.com/post/183749893986/i-like-to-think-that-when-you-get-really-into>  
> 

“Why are you here this evening?” He looked at her, sheathed in grey cotton with water dripping from her silver hair, droplets of water studding her skin like tiny crystals.

“You called for me, obviously.” Pink lips twisted into a smirk pulled from his memories, but her eyes, usually so keen, were heavy with desire. “You want to say it isn’t so, but you know you can’t, not to me.”

“...I suppose I can no longer deny it.” He looked at her, thin cotton just a bit thinner than it seemed to be in reality, lit from behind to outline her slim silhouette.

“If you give in, it will make the waking easier.” She appealed to him. “You’ve wanted for so long, oh, how sweet your desire is. Please, let me help. You won’t have to spoil your precious treasure with your ashen fingerprints. You can still have me.” She plucked the thoughts from his mind, traced gentle fingers down his body, and he could smell roses. He took in a sharp breath.

“Desire. You are not her.” He told her, locking his hands behind his back to keep them from wrapping around her waist.

“No. But isn’t that better?” She murmured, tracing her lips along his jaw. He groaned against her, and she purred in another dream’s voice.

He could almost pretend… She was warm, and light, with a million tiny details filled in by his memory. The smattering of light freckles on her arms. The scars on her hands. Her nails, longer than practical, broken off unevenly. A green glow emanated from the hand that was now gliding up his arm to take hold of his neck, though it lacked the pull and thrum that accompanied her mark. Her eye color was the right shade brilliant green, with the speck of red brown in the left he had noticed earlier that night, but lacked something, the something that made them pierce and hold him captive.

Yes. Not her. But better this way. The Dread Wolf had caught her scent, and he would save her from himself if he could.

Perhaps, she was correct. If he allowed himself this, things might be less tenuous in waking, if he was sated, he would be less likely to be reckless. If he could lose control only in the place she could not go, it would be easier to stand next to her.

“You see? Give in. You can have me. You can have me every way you've ever thought of.” She breathed against his ear, sending shivers across his neck and scalp.

He wound one hand into her wet hair, gripping and pulling her back, and she moaned. The soft, happy sound he had overheard in the bath, and his control snapped. He lowered his lips to hers, a low, steady kiss that ignited the space between them.

He pulled her hips to his and she made a high sound into his mouth. Needing more, so many more of those sounds in her voice, he pulled back and began kissing and nipping at her neck, trailing lips and tongue over the crystalline droplets of water still clinging to her.

“Fenedhis, Solas.” She gasped, spurring him on.

He grabbed her ass and rocked against her, curling her, helpless against his body and his need.

“Sweet wolf...” She breathed, in the same voice she had used offering him a kiss.

“Emmaera, ma lea’vune. Ir dinamah'ma, emathemah sule na irlahna en ir’av’ahna.”   _Dream of mine, my moonlight. I'm going to fill you up, cover you with me until you cry and beg_. He promised against her ear, nipping around her tiny silver hoops. She moaned, rocking into him again, driving his need, his desire even higher, nearing painful.

He snarled, pushing her away, making her fall back into his bed, courtesy of The Fade. She gasped as she hit the blanket, hair splaying out beneath her like the haloes he so often painted.

“Yes. Take me. Make me scream.” She purred. He pulled at her gown, snapping his will through the motion, and it disappeared with a sigh, leaving her naked and flushed, laying on his bed and breathing hard. He finally allowed himself to take in all of the details. Her creamy skin was uninterrupted by any lines of sun exposure, gentle curves everywhere with hard muscle underneath.

He knelt before her, running fingers, then tongue, across the droplets of water on her calves, kissing his way up her legs. His hands settled on her thighs, spreading her legs and moving to her hips, pulling her core into his face.

He was ravenous, and intended to have his fill. He began lapping, slow gentle strokes to stoke her, and she rewarded him with a keening cry that made him ache.

“Yes, my wolf, drink me in, make me forget about everything else, just this, oh please, give me this.” She panted in ragged breaths as he pushed his tongue against her, harder and faster. One of her hands found his skull and she dug her fingernails in, urging him on. His hands responded in kind, one digging fingers into her hip the other moving beneath his chin to slide a finger inside her, and then another. He worked them carefully, curling upwards and stroking the spot sure to stoke her further. She was already beginning to pulse inside, and the sensation made him groan against her, sending her spasming and crying out his name, over the edge.

With another tug of will he was freed from his own clothes, standing and gliding inside her in one swift movement, pushing her over the edge again and feeling the aftershocks tremor around him.

“Fenedhis, e’sha’reun’rodhe.” _Fuck, you're so much more delicious than I thought._ He growled at her, licking his lips and fingers, letting the tremors slow before moving again, slow, patient strokes.

“Are you surprised?” She asked, eyes fluttering, biting back a moan.

“By you, ma’da’len, always.” He said, voice rough, and he picked up the pace, heat and frenzy building. She cried out, walls tightening and pulsing against him, and he felt the pressure begin to build, snapping her hips against his as she scrabbled for purchase against the sheets, arching her back oh so prettily as she cried out.

“Yes, yes, come for me, my sweet wolf, fill me up with your desire.” She begged. He felt the last thread of self control snap, and he pounded against her, pressure building and building until there was no choice but release. He cried out, wave after wave rocking through him as she matched his cries.

Gradually, he stilled, collapsing onto the bed next to her, and she vibrated contentedness next to him. Perhaps now he would be able to let go of the need building for this slip of moonlight. She laughed.

“Oh, my sweet wolf, we’ve only just begun.” Desire said, fixing him with fade green eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks oh so much to FenXShiral and Project Elvhen!!!
> 
> Please, please comment and lmk your thoughts on this chapter!
> 
> Oh also! This chapter was definitely inspired by a combo of Blackwall and Solas' banter about sex with spirits and this beautiful tumblr post
> 
>  
> 
> <https://dirthenera.tumblr.com/post/183145156806/kreebby-alatuspictomancer-kreebby-just-a>  
> 


	23. Way Past Herald

“Hey lovebirds, we should get going soon.” 

His eyes snapped awake at Varric’s words, meeting Thenera’s gaze, far too close to his. For a brief moment, he thought perhaps he was still in The Fade with Desire, but her eyes were shot with sleep and not heavy with lust, and a faint line of panic marred the space between her brows. Though, her pupils were far too wide, and she chewed her lip. He could feel the heat emanating off her, pulse far too fast for having just woken. 

Their legs were tangled together, and her back was very nearly against the wall, with him very nearly pressing her against it. His breath caught as he thought about closing that space, pushing against her and hearing more of the moans he’d listened to all night. His body was more than ready. He tore his gaze from hers, turning to the door.

“We will be out shortly. Thank you for waking us.” He called, voice far too rough, though at least he could blame sleep in this case. He swallowed, flexing a hand to begin the process of untangling themselves, and felt soft, pliant skin under it. Her hip. His hand had found its way under her nightgown at some point in the night. He withdrew it quickly, and she lifted the leg that had been thrown over his, to his shared relief and disappointment. He withdrew quickly, turning from her so that she wouldn’t see his obvious lust, straining against his breeches. 

She yawned and stretched, a small, high noise as the stretch made her muscles shake against the bed. 

“Morning Solas.” She said, voice soft and thick with sleep.

“Good morning, Herald.” He greeted cooly.

“Bullshit. Stop that.” She said, stretching, tone languid. “I know it’s complicated and you’re complicated, but you just snuggled me into the wall after saving me from an assassination attempt. We’re way past ‘Herald.’” He looked at her, and a vision of her face contorted in desperate need rose in his memory. He tightened his control. Desire was supposed to make things easier, but it was seeming that she had only stoked the coals.

“I was unaware I would have the tendency to do that in my sleep. Ir abelas, lethallan.” He stood, and began smoothing his clothes. 

“Tel abelas, lethallin.” She replied, tone challenging, demanding he turn back and answer. Or turn back and pin her beneath him, cover her mouth with his until the challenge died on her lips.

“I should leave you to get dressed. Ara seranna-ma.” He said, and left. 

He changed again in his room, glad Varric had already ventured downstairs. After taking in several stilling breaths, it became much easier to bear Thenera’s presence near him. He just needed some space between the desire dream and the reality. 

He repacked his bag and headed downstairs.

“Morning.” Blackwall greeted, dark circles under his eyes and expression dour. 

“Ah, yes. Good does seem to be stretching it.” Solas agreed. He took his seat, and Bull thrust a bowl of porridge into his hands. He nodded his thanks, and was just about to begin eating as Thenera came down the stairs.

“Glad to see you’re doing better Glowy.” Varric greeted, a smile born of exhaustion on his face. 

“Much. Definitely not what I would have had in mind if someone had told me a month ago I’d be getting choked in a bathtub.” She quirked an eyebrow, smirking. He felt the urge to roll his eyes despite the resounding laughter. She was wise to break the tension of this moment. “How’d your nights go?”

“Not too bad, Boss. No further incidents.” The Ben-Hassrath offered.

“I took care of the innkeeper. Won’t have any issues, but it’s best we don’t linger.” Varric said with a wave.

“And I took care of the mess upstairs. It’s a good thing I wasn’t another assassin, you lot didn’t even budge.” Blackwall said. Solas realized with a start that he hadn’t even noticed its absence this morning, or been pulled from sleep at the assuredly not quiet removal of the body. And neither had she. It was unsurprising, given his night’s activities, though he should have been more alert.

However, waking in her bed in the midst of his activities with Desire could have been disastrous, so perhaps it was for the best.

“We figured a human going out to the docks with a strange package in the middle of the night would be the least conspicuous.” Varric supplied, pulling him from his thoughts. “Then took turns on guard duty. It was a long night.”

“Thank you. Thank you for everything.” Thenera said, uncommonly solemn. “I’m so sorry for not considering this could happen, especially here.”

“Oh come on Glowy. Do you really want to start the circle of each one of us blaming ourselves for not seeing it coming?” Varric asked dryly.

“Yea. That crap doesn’t help anyone.” Bull added, and it seemed for once he would have to agree with the qunari, despite his own views on guilt. The warden grimaced, unsure whether to agree or argue, and Thenera raised her hands in appeasement.

“Alright, alright. Fair. At least you all got to see me naked in payment?” She teased. Bull laughed, and Solas became suddenly engrossed in his porridge.

“If someone told me I’d be seeing the Herald of Andraste naked in the bathtub a month ago, this is not what I’d have had in mind.” Bull grinned, sparking annoyance.

“Couldn’t write this shit.” Varric said, shaking his head.


	24. House in Redcliffe

“Oh, on our way out, can we stop by the docks?” Thenera asked to the table’s puzzlement. “I want to spit on the bastard who fucked up my bath.”

“Shit Glowy, you don't normally get this intense.”

“I get that way after assassination attempts, apparently.” Her mouth curled into a deadly smile.

No one wanted to argue with her after that, and they made their way to the docks. Her gaze shifted as though she was expecting something, and walked by as far from the water's edge as possible, nearly walking directly into a small cabin.

“You ok there Boss?” Bull asked.

“Uh. Yea. Nobody else hears that?” She asked, tilting her head. She shot a furtive look at Solas.

While the others offered each other quizzical looks, Solas went to stand by her. There was something. Faint. Barely noticeable, unless, he suspected, you knew it was there. _We will find a house full of them in Redcliffe_. Her voice played in his mind

“Oculara.” He answered, and she tilted her head in acknowledgement, ever so slightly.

“Great, more creepy shit.” Varric groaned. Thenera glanced around and began trying to pick the lock.

“Fenedhis. I need more practice. Varric?” She waved him forward, and he began working the lock with minimal grumbling.

“I can always break it down if you need, Boss.” The Qunari offered.

“Thanks Bull. Definitely, if we can't do it the sneaky way. Though that does mean drawing even more attention to ourselves.”

“Got it. Quiet good, smash bad.” They grinned at each other, and the door swung open.

“Here you go Glowy, I’m sure this will go great.” Varric said, and Thenera’s grin turned to a grimace.

Inside was… unpleasant. They pushed past the half wall blocking the line of sight from the door, finding rows and rows of them, all whispering on top of one another, with strange logs covered in pulsing runes. He reached out with his mana, and felt nothing, no attachment to The Fade. Much like Thenera. Had she come from some sort of Tranquility gone wrong? Or had there been a ritual of some sort that had granted her powers? How strange.

“The Venatori have made the Oculara and are using them to search for something. Something like those old shards, presumably.” He offered, granting the knowledge Thenera had given him months ago to the remainder of their group.

“Great. Great addition to our wonderful morning.” Thenera said, sarcasm dripping from the words. Had she always been so skilled at hiding how much she knew? She motioned to a book, and Solas skimmed it while she turned to the skulls, dipping her head in respect.

“So. Each Ocularum is made from the skull of a Tranquil.” He mused as he flipped the pages, then stowed it in his pack for later perusing.

“I had wondered what had become of those poor souls when the circles collapsed. Now we know.” Blackwall said, joining Thenera in the motion of respect.

“Not like the Tranquil were doing much with them.” Bull offered callously. Well, it seemed he and Thenera weren’t always on the same page.

“I figured they’d fled with the rebel mages. Poor bastards.” Varric said, scrubbing his hands across his face.

“I had wondered what had become of them when the mages rebelled. What a tragic waste.” Solas said, and they worked their way out of the cabin. Thenera spit over the side of the dock before leading them out of Redcliffe, clearly more than ready to be done with the place.


	25. Recurring Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late tonight! But I had to go over it again.

They made camp that evening on the hill Southwest of the crossroads, in the spot Thenera seemed to favor so much. There was plentiful running water here, which he was grateful for as he washed his clothes, scrubbing them between rocks until the stains lifted. 

After the catastrophe at the inn, they had worked their way back through the Hinterlands carefully, avoiding skirmishes. Thenera and Varric were skilled at it, and he himself could pass unassumingly in this guise, but Iron Bull and Blackwall were as subtle as stone walls, and accounting for them made for a slow pace. 

With the attempt still fresh in everyone’s mind, Varric hunted, and Bull and Thenera cooked together, something simple and hearty that could have easily been served in the tavern if it weren’t for the woodsmoke infused in it. 

With an odd number and limited tents, he decided to sleep under the stars, as he so often had done before the Inquisition. There was a peace in it.

People drifted off to bed, and as usual, it was Thenera who stayed by the fire, sketchbook in hand. She always seemed to have something in her hands, unable to simply let them rest; whether it be her sketchbook, sewing something small, or reading, which she didn’t often do while on the road. There was a beauty in the movements, a surety as her long fingers trailed short overlapping lines in charcoal from her anchored hand, so unlike the broad strokes he favored. Almost like stitches on the page, he thought, if he could see her work. She looked up as he laid out his bedroll, firelight gleaming on her skin as she gave him a tentative smile. 

“Am I keeping you from the Fade, Lethallin? I could retire for the evening; listen to Varric give me more shit about last night.” She offered. Something between them had eased since the previous night. A trust had strengthened, and there was an unspoken agreement to stay closer than before. 

“Actually, I had hoped I might ask you something.” He sat near her, though not so close as to intrude on the privacy of her art. That was another level of intimacy he was unsure he was ready for.

“Oh?” She asked, quirking her head and closing her sketchbook. An invitation to his questioning. He cast a sound barrier.

“Yes. Your strange dreams. Have they always been thus? Or is it something that was thrust on you, as the mark was?” 

“Hmm. They’ve always been this way to some degree. I remember being small and having strange moments, realizing that I had dreamt that moment weeks prior. The anchor has seemed to amplify the effect though. When I connected with that first rift, it was like seeing a path open up in front of me, made of recurring dreams. I can’t tell you how long I’ve had dreams about the Inquisition, my dreams before the Conclave were… fragments, lost after waking, only remembered when they happened.”

Hmm. So they were not tied to some sort of ritual, or anything that could be easily reproduced, but truly a part of her. Amplified by a part of him.

“So they are tied to the anchor?”

“I’m not sure.” She admitted, peeling off the fingerless glove she had taken to wearing over the mark, and studying it. “It seems likely.”

“It would make sense for the anchor to tie you more fully to your dreams, although I believe that would tie you more fully to The Fade, which you are disconnected from. You are quite the mystery. I had wondered, as you are disconnected, if there was any link between you and Tranquility.” He mused, studying her reaction to see if he might glean more information than she had shared yet.

“Gee thanks, do I really seem tranquil to you?” She winced, a bite that went deeper than he expected, and her shoulders inclined as if expecting a blow.

“You do not. However, the Oculara, and your vehemence did give me pause. That being said, if it a natural talent being amplified by the anchor, then that theory no longer holds any weight. Can you tell me more about what your dreams are like, if not their specific content?”

She relaxed minutely.

“Are you sure?” She asked, seeming to brace herself.

“That you are not tranquil, or tied to tranquility? Relatively certain. You do seem to have quite an excess of personality for such a thing.” He offered her a reassuring smile, and she relaxed again, shoulders settling back to their usual position.

“Oh. Good. Well… As a somniari, have you ever had recurring dreams?”

“Once, when I was very young.” He offered. He had still been learning to control his dreams, and occasionally, they would run away with him as opposed him running away with them. 

“Well, it’s kinda like those. There are set patterns, some things that play the same every time, some things you can tweak. But the overall path remains the same. Sometimes, there are things you wish you could change that you can’t in that moment, trapped in the dream. Time works strangely. There are some things that seem to happen nearly immediately in my dreams that have taken weeks in reality. And some moments have happened more times than others.” She offered, for once little held back. 

“I see. That is fascinating. Have you seen this moment?” He asked, unable to help the question. Perhaps it would always be a mystery just how much she truly saw.

“No. Most of our private conversations are new. It’s been… Interesting seeing how much it colors the parts I have seen.” She said with a smile, and a playful glance under her lashes that made his blood heat. 

“Most? Which ones have you seen?” He asked, steering the conversation back to safer grounds.

“Some of our conversations about The Fade, and Spirits. Remember the night you told me I was graceful? That one I’ve seen a few times.” She grinned, quirking a brow at him. How long ago it felt, that he had seen her as little more than a halla in moonlight, prey to chase and bat at. How wrong he had been about her. Graceful, at least, he was correct about. And she had risen to the challenge, spoken of dominating his focus. 

His ears heated. So much for safer grounds.

“And what moments have yet to come?” He asked, trying again.

“...Has anyone ever told you that you’re terribly entertaining to keep secrets from?” She nearly purred, brow still quirked, and rose. “Goodnight, Solas. Enjoy your time in the Fade.”

“Goodnight, Thenera. Enjoy your dreams of what’s yet to come.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO funny story, I do occasionally have moments happen that I'm sure I dreamt previously. Though it could just be my brain playing tricks on me, some sort of super deja vu.


	26. Beneath Haven

“Solas? Are you home? Will you go for a walk with me?” He heard, accompanied by the pull of the anchor and a knock that startled him from his reading. He stood and opened the door. She stood, hopeful look on her face, dressed in simple clothes of sage and slate, belted at the waist. Her bow was strung and slung over her shoulder, something uncommon in the city. 

“This is an odd request from you. Do you not prefer walking alone?” He asked, curious as ever.

“Given recent events, I thought it would be smarter to bring company.” She offered a half smile, not a trace of fear left from her recent assassination attempt. “And you're the only one I can show this to.”

“Ah. Indeed. Allow me to grab my things. Do we need armor?” He asked, wondering where this walk would lead.

“I hope not.” She answered, shrugging. So she was unsure. “Oh, will you join me for an expedition to the Fallow Mire? It’s sure to be oh so much fun.”

“Sounds riveting.” He answered with a wry twist of his lips. Leaving her to a damp bog full of undead was out of the question. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

She smiled thanks, and led him down the steps from his cabin with a come hither look, something sure to come to mind unbidden later. He paused before following her.

“I can't tell you everything about why we're doing this.” She offered, leading him down several flights of stairs, towards areas that were generally only for military use. “Can you trust me?”

He gestured with his staff to continue, not trusting his words on the matter of her, and of trust.

“That wasn't an answer, lethallin.” She raised a brow, clearly not content with his non answer.

“I do not trust many. I have extended you more than most.” He told her, unwilling to tell her that he was the one who was unworthy of trust. She nodded, as though unsurprised by his answer. She really should stop surprising him.

Thenera found one of the trebuchet, and ran her long fingers over it, examining the mechanism with the intensity of one attempting to memorize it. The moment he was about to ask, she turned from it, searching the ground in a trailing path until her gaze caught an old mining grate, with rotted planks broken and gapping. 

Her gait changed as she saw it, pulling straight, and walking right up to the edge. She offered Solas a grin.

“Down the hatch!” She met his gaze as she hopped through the hole, and he would be certain she was mad if she hadn’t seemed so sure. He drew himself up, waiting for the sound of impact and steps to know she was out of the way, and dropped down behind her, landing with his knees slightly bent to absorb the impact, about ten feet down. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the tunnel, stone walls and snowdrifts and ice, and Thenera gave him one of the secretive smiles that once raised his ire so effectively.

“Why are we here?” He asked. 

“I'm going to find myself here alone soon. I need to find the path that leads out to the North.” She answered, raising more questions than she answered.

“Can you not take the path above ground?”

“I can't answer that. Sorry.” She told him, studying the tunnels and pulling out a sketchbook and piece of charcoal. “Oh. But there is something else. While we were in Redcliffe, I woke up before you and fell back asleep. I think I might have been in the Fade. And when I was unconscious after the attempt… I think I was then too.”

“How can you tell?” He asked, brows furrowed. Why would this change now? 

“It felt different.” She shrugged, clearly not giving a full answer, and a hope he hadn’t realized he harbored surged. Maybe, just maybe, he could show her the dreams she longed for, pull the sad note to joy whenever he spoke of The Fade. And perhaps he could see her dreams in turn, amplified by spirits eager to reenact them. 

“There is an herb mixture which assists dreamers, perhaps someday we can experiment with such a thing?” He offered, as she sketched a map, cleverly disguising the clean lines with flourishes meant to obfuscate their purpose. It wouldn’t work for someone well trained and suspicious by nature, such as Leliana, but for the average person, it would do nicely.

“I would love that, Solas.” She caught his gaze and smiled, and he couldn’t help the smile that met hers. Her expression turned, caught by a new thought “Oh, would you mind helping with some light? Hmm. Going to need to make sure I have some light available.” 

He did as she bade, holding a soft light in his palm, realizing with a pang that he was mimicking the anchor. They continued in companionable silence for a time, treading carefully on icy paths, until the cold began to seep, too far, and worry began to rise.

“Lethallan, what will this be like when you’re here next?” He finally asked. She gave him a look of defiance, laced with the same anxiety he had begun to feel. Was this why she had been so careful of the elfroot potions on their last venture?

“It will be night, and I’ll be alone, exhausted, freezing, and triumphant.” Thenera answered, still holding back. She had not lied yet, which meant that though there was much she didn’t say, she would be victorious. And alone.

“Must you be alone?” He asked, a veneer of calm over his worry.

“Solas… As much as I would love to have you with me, I don’t know what it will change. I know that I will absolutely live through this. I don’t know if you will if you try to join me, and nothing is worth that to me. Promise me you won’t. When I make my way out, the howls of wolves will guide me to you. I promise. You won’t lose the anchor.” She faced him, pleading. He would not lose her, lose the anchor, and there would be wolves. Wolves. This dream would be led by wolves, to him. Would it be him? Did she have visions of him calling her with his howls?

“Very well. I will await you at the end of the wolves trail.” He answered.


	27. Auger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to two chapters today! We'll see if I can keep it up, Solas has been demanding I work on his master plan instead of writing more. 
> 
> I also went back and revised Chapter 22, Desire! I added more, including more buildup, now that I'm feeling a little less awkward about it, and one detail change in "Real," a spot in one of Thenera's eyes he didn't get close enough to see until he was healing her from the assassination attempt.

The Fallow Mire was even more unpleasant than he had anticipated, and he was ever grateful for his magic. Thenera complained nearly as much as she had on the Storm Coast, but the rotting dead made breathing through the mouth unpleasant, and she fell silent quickly, wrapping a scarf around her mouth and nose beneath her oiled cowl to mask it, at least a little.

They discovered the Avvar tribe’s Auger near a strange rift that sat in stasis. He remembered with a pang his attempt to discover more of the Avvar with Wisdom, which had sadly been lacking. All he had found were bare remnants of rituals and offerings to their ‘gods.’ Perhaps here would be a good place to try again. 

“So. You’re Herald of Andraste.” He greeted Thenera. “My kin want you dead, lowlander, but it’s not my job. No fears from me.”

“So you’re not going to fight me?”

“Our Chieftan’s son wants to fight you.” He clarified. “I’m called in when the dead pile up, rights to the gods, mending to the bleeding, a dagger to the dying. That’s what I do. I don’t pick up a blade for a welp’s trophy hunt.”

“That’s sweet of you. Have you seen our people? Are they alright?” She asked, completely at ease. There was no surge of fondness, so perhaps she simply was confident, as she often was.

“A few were injured in the skirmish, but they were alive, last I saw. Someone’s trained them well. They killed more of us than I thought they would.” He responded, a note of admiration in his voice.

“I’ll give our commander your regards then. You here for this?” She motioned to the rift.

“Trying to figure out this hole in the world. Never seen anything like its like. They spit out angry spirits; endless. What the sky’s trying to tell us, I don’t know.” He looked up at the shimmering green, and Solas’ gaze flickered to Thenera’s. Her eyes reflected the glow in front of her, making her look otherworldly. 

“It’s from the giant hole in the sky, making smaller ones everywhere.” She offered with a shrug, shattering the illusion.

“I know that, lowlander.” He grumbled, and Thenera offered an appeasing gesture. “I’m talking about the Lady in the skies. Do you not know her? Can’t you see the warnings she writes through the bird flocks in the air?”

“Can’t say I have, been too busy closing the damn things. Watch!” She cocked her head and grinned, nodding to their party, and Solas cast a barrier on the group before she opened the rift.

She drew back, close to Solas, and began methodically picking off demons. Skywatcher surprised him by diving into the fray alongside Bull and Blackwall, his great hammer seeming adept at handling the twisted spirits. 

He channeled through his staff, pulses of crackling lightning arcing and seizing, setting the air alight with the smell of ozone, a pleasant change from the rot. 

The motions with his staff were smooth, true. A thousand years sleep had dulled his muscle memory, but it hadn’t taken long to wear off the rough edges, and return to the forms he knew. He swung in an arc, channeling and spinning and wrapping the veil around himself, twisting and pulling and coaxing through it as no one but its architect could. 

The undead shattered and fell before touching him, or Thenera. She aimed true, severing body parts with impunity so long as she could halt their advance, and returned to raining arrows into the not-flesh of the demons when she could. She aimed carefully around their allies, including the Avvar whose chief wanted her dead. She had seen him, then. Would he be joining, as so many others? This one perhaps, he would be able to discuss spirits with, in a way he could with none but Thenera.

The fight came to a close, and he felt the anchor surge, singing, as Thenera connected with the rift, knitting it shut with his power and her will. 

Fingerprints on her soul. Yes. That did seem an apt description. They were bound together now, in far too many ways to untangle, and the urge to attempt such a thing grew dimmer with each smile, each glance, each drifting touch. He would minimize the damage to her where possible, and hope that would be enough.

“Lady in the Skies! You can mend the gaps in the air?” The Avvar asked incredulously.

“Pretty great, huh?” Bull grinned at him, large weapons and the fight’s adrenaline bonding them for the moment. 

“Maybe you do have a God’s favor.” He contemplated in response. Solas kept his face impassive, holding a small smile inside. If he only knew. 

“Maybe. Though I doubt it’s the one they’re giving all the credit.” She winked at the Avvar, and he barked a laugh.

“I shall see then. Mind the water.” And with that, he took his leave.


	28. Wisdom of the Avvar

“Wisdom…” He called to her. Most often, he sought her out, but on this evening, he wanted to explore this area, and use his time judiciously.

She came, floating, to his call after just a few minutes.

“Good evening, lethallin. I see you’ve found us something fascinating to explore.” She smiled warmly, and then tilted her head to the side. “Oh, but you’ve been busy. Have things changed?”

“Yes.” He found himself admitting. He let her in, reading his memories since they had last spoken. She regarded him with a thoughtful look, and a small smile.

“I see. Shall we find the wisdom you seek this evening?” She asked.

“I do hope so. You don’t intend to pry?” He asked her.

“You’ll see when you’re ready. Let us go.”

They walked through the Mire, conveniently leaving out the smell and the threatening undead, and made their way to one of the ritual sites. 

A memory of Sky Watcher played, a ritual to honor the loss of one of their gods, who had died protecting the clan. A spirit of perseverance, it seemed. He watched as the tribe gathered, paying their respects with tokens, shimmering with intent and memories bound to them by will alone. A wisp, a shadow of the spirit that had once been, greeted them to a resounding welcome. It didn’t understand, but it wanted to be what these people needed and expected.

Time passed. Some of the memories were reclaimed, and others were lost forever. The spirit grew strong on the belief of its people, becoming Perseverance again. It was the same, yet different, growing different bonds and reconnecting with old ones in new ways. 

They watched in silence as the memory faded, and Solas felt the pang of loss and hope, bound in a confusing circle.

“I do not know if this helps.” He confessed to Wisdom.

“I do not either. It is beautiful, and sad. Rare, that mortals would allow and shape such a spirit. It gives me pride.” She said, smiling fondly at him.

“Do you believe there is a way to create more certain results?” He asked her. 

“Perhaps. But there would be no way to test such a thing. Shall we search for other memories?” She offered as a balm. A search, a quest to stave off worry for something only hinted at.

“Yes.” He responded.

They stayed, combing the memories of the tribe all evening, but each result varied, inconsistent. Sometimes the spirit that reformed knew nothing, despite the Auger’s work. It seemed the key was the offerings and the memories imbued in them, but it was hardly enough.

“It is nearly morning, lethallin. Time to return to your dream.” She said.

“We have not found what we seek.” He countered. 

“That may be, but the answers may not exist here.” She smiled softly. “Of the knowledge we have found, there is much wisdom, and much hope. We have seen wonders together, and will only find more.”

“Thank you, lethallan. You are right. We have learned much, and though it has not been precisely what we sought, the value is great. Until next time, Falon.”

“Dareth Shiral, Falon.”


	29. Much Alike

“Tell me about the rift, da’len.” Solas asked. Her voice as she called out to Bull earlier had been unmistakably commanding, ringing far too loud for such a small creature. They were in their shared tent, both a blessing and a curse, and he needed to speak of something that would not draw Desire to him again. He had seen her, haunting his paths several nights since Redcliffe, and it would be unwise to see her again while sharing a tent with Thenera.

“It can’t be done right now. I’ve dreamt dying there a dozen times if we try now. Later, we can come back and take care of it. But not now.” She answered, and he paused. That was new information.

“You’ve dreamt dying here?” He asked, concern lighting his voice.

“Yes. If you ever hear that tone from me again, do as I say with no question.” She said, in a tone that demanded his obeisance. She had not taken such a tone with him before, and though he would most likely find it grating from another, he found himself respecting her. Odd. Respecting this dream, this woman in front of him. Speaking as though she was his elder. Oh, if only she knew.

“I will keep that in mind, hahren.” He teased, quirking a brow at her in a mimicry of her own expression, though he was not quite so adept. She paused, uncommon hesitation in her.

“Umm. Solas. If your plan wasn’t to make me hot and bothered, you may want to pick a different way to say that in the future.” She said, and he tilted his head. She was flushed, even in the bare light of a single candle, and her eyes were wide, pupils shot with lust.

She was attempting to hold back, as he was. Something surged in him. She had not openly acknowledged that she wanted him since her comment, so long ago, about his indomitable focus, and he found he couldn’t suppress a grin. She wanted him. It was very, very good he had taken to setting their personal effects between them, pieces of armor and weaponry creating a divide.

“Ir abelas, I will endeavor to be more careful with my words.” He offered, attempting to reign in the smile with minimal success. Perhaps it only right he call her an elder, she had him giddy as a much younger man.

“Tel’abelas. You keep saying you’re sorry, but you’re smiling right now. And so am I.” She smiled, something wicked that Desire would surely wear for him, and licked her lips, challenge clear on her face.

“I suppose… Tel’abelas. I am not sorry.” He grinned, allowing himself to rise to the challenge, and she gaped in surprise. Now that was quite delicious. He so rarely had the chance to surprise her, as opposed to the other way around, and he eyed the pile between them. How surprised would she be if he swept it away and pulled her to him? A slow grin spread on her face, as if agreeing with his thoughts, daring him to take action. What small noises would she make? Would her mouth drop open in shock? Her brows incline?

“In that case… Good night, Hahren.” She purred, and blew out the candle lighting the space, leaving him surprised yet again.

He lay back in his bedroll, blood rushing in his ears. Slowly, it quieted, and he listened to the sounds of Thenera settling into her own, pulse racing as she yawned, a sound far too cute to match the purr a few minutes prior. His eyes adjusted to the light, and he turned his head toward her, view mercifully blocked by his pauldrons. He had not seen her sleeping since the Chantry cell, where she had seemed so foreign and weak. He wondered what she would look like now, if she would look small again, smaller than waking, and soft, brashness brushed away.

He took a deep breath and turned away from her, trying to still his mind and drive his thoughts back to paths that would allow him to seek Wisdom again. Find the grains of the conversation that had not been so stimulating physically, but mentally. She had dreamt dying here. Which meant that there was a chance all this would be for naught, they might not reach their goal, despite her dreams which said they would seal the breach.

She had said that things became less certain after that. Were there more dangers? More choices? Or did she simply have fewer dreams after that point, with the anchor and the breach a focus for her abilities?

With questions weighing his mind, he managed to slip into The Fade, finding his way to Wisdom before Desire could find her way to him.

“Are you so worried your fingerprints will leave ash?” She asked. Apparently he had not turned his thoughts enough, for her to ask this.

“She does not deserve to be soiled by me.” He answered honestly. “She may be a necessary casualty to restore the people, but I will see her suffer as little as possible by my hand.”

“And what of you? What fingerprints has she left on your soul?”

Oh. Oh, _Fenedhis_. How had he not seen such a thing? He had been so very concerned with his effect on her, dulling her, betraying her trust, taking advantage of her kindness in nothing but a guise of himself, one facet of many. But she had begun to leave prints of her own, smiles and laughs and the smell of roses. Happiness. Something he did not deserve. Wisdom smiled, sadly. She knew too much to smile as Thenera did, bright and unburdened.

Well, perhaps unburdened was a stretch, though she did make it look that way.

“She is a light to my darkness.” He said, realizing. “And I, drawn like the wolf to the moon.”

“She is real.” Wisdom said, and his emotions were thrown to chaos as she plucked the errant thought from the night she had nearly died.

“I was perhaps rash in that thought.” He immediately defended. She could not be. Her brightness was but a flickering flame, one that would burn bright for a moment, and then sputter. He would continue to endure, unless the Evanuris killed him. Which would be far too kind for their appetites.

“Were you?” She asked. It _had_ been a rash thought, escaping during a moment of duress, but was it only that? Once only a wisp to him, she had changed, shifted into someone worthy of his respect. Or, possibly, she had always been such, and it was him who had been wrong, refusing to see a truth because it was not framed as he expected.

She had offered her protection during their very first conversation, to stand between an apostate and a chantry bent on his compliance or death. She had maneuvered political situations with poise and subtlety, and knew when to discard the subtlety. She asked questions, always thirsty for knowledge and wisdom. Had he met her in Elvhenan, he would have assumed she was at least several centuries old, despite how her emotions lived, small and tenuous, beneath her skin.

“I was, but not incorrect.” He mused. But if she was real, what did that make the others? She was more disconnected than any of them, beside the anchor.

Or perhaps it was simply the anchor, drawing from her something that made her more like The People. Or perhaps he was simply so vain and prideful that his own power made her alluring. Or both. That seemed far more logical for the moment.

“I wish it was possible to meet her. I would be quite curious to meet the one who can bring you even small moments of happiness.”

“Happiness I do not require. You know the path I walk. It must be done, and entanglements would be unwise.” She clucked disapprovingly at him.

“Unwise?" Wisdom asked. "Happiness is what gives many the strength to endure horrors beyond imagining. But I see you will not be swayed by a friend who wishes the best for you. You have far too much pride.”

“There is no way for it to end well. Either we die before reaching our goals, and I fail, or I retrieve my orb, and must leave regardless. I cannot bring anyone on my path. It would be unconscionable.”

“A story does not need a happy ending to have value, lethallin.”

“So few do. Please, may we speak of other things?”

“Of course. I am sorry to have pried.” She echoed his own words to Thenera, from when he barely knew her, when she first spoke to him of her dreams and he dismissed her, told her it was impossible. She was impossible. Truly, how much had she kept from him, by sheer virtue of his own pride demanding she could not know?

No more than he kept from her, counting on her to not hear the things left unsaid, because they were impossible.

“You are much alike.” Wisdom said, and pieces rattled together.

_“And you have not seen it in your dreams?”_

_She shrugged noncommittally._

_“I'm sure if it's important, it'll turn up.”_

Fenedhis.


	30. No Space

“Herald? May I speak with you?” Solas threw his voice through the camp, mollifying the onlookers and added members who viewed Thenera as more divine than mortal. She nodded, and he led her out of the camp, with a shield against the damp, around the corner. It was not total seclusion, they were within sight of the fire, but that would be less suspicious than true privacy, and this at least afforded them space to speak without being overheard, as a sound barrier would be much too suspicious.

“I fear we are to have little privacy tonight.” He said. They had rescued the Inquisition soldiers, and the camp was full to bursting. There had been injuries to heal, though Thenera had predictably insisted that others be tended to before her. Her injuries had been minor cuts from glanced arrows and a few bruises, nothing serious, and he had not argued. Unfortunately, the rescued soldiers meant they would have a third bedroll in their tent for the night, and no space to keep theirs apart, removing both privacy and space. 

“And yet, no space to keep our bedrolls apart.” She shot him a wicked smile, echoing his thoughts.

“And yet, no space to be wicked.” He returned her smile, safe to play the game with no chance for a slip. “However, that was not why I asked to speak. I have a question.”

He paused, waiting for her acknowledgement, wondering again if this would be the best approach, or if it might tip his hand to her, this insistence.

“Yes?”

“Do you know the fate of the artifact? You have demurred each time I’ve broached the subject.” He caught her gaze, holding it, searching for a tell. She froze, telling him exactly what he needed to know.

“You know more than you’ve said.” He said flatly.

“Yes.” She offered shakily.

“What is it?” He pressed.

“I…. Give me a minute.” She took a deep breath, eyes drifting closed. A small line burrowed between her brows as she thought, formulating what to say. Why was she so closed about this? What more did she know? Far more than she would say, obviously, but if she wouldn’t tell him… 

“Thenera. Please. It is important.” He entreated. He wished he could have gotten an answer before her defenses rose so thoroughly. She released a shaky breath and opened her eyes.

“I… We will see it soon. The night I end up in that tunnel. There won’t be a chance to retrieve it, and it’s tainted by red lyrium. I’m sorry.” She offered, clearly only a piece. Soon. In Haven. Tainted by red lyrium. Which meant Corypheus would be making a trip to Haven, and it seemed she would be leaving under the city. It would be so close. To have it so close and slip from his grasp… Though he would have to research how to remove the taint. He could not regain his power with it as such.

“You’re certain there’s no way to retrieve it?” He asked. She shook her head, sad but firm.

“No. If we try to change it, we all die, and the anchor is lost forever.” She said seriously, meeting his gaze. “Ir abelas, Solas.” 

He looked at her, curious about her surety, but that tone of voice, were to believe what she had said so firmly the previous night, meant certain death.

“Is there more?” He asked. Surely, that would not be the only time, were that the case.

“We’ll get another chance.” She gave him. It still wasn’t everything. He held her gaze, searching, hoping she would let more slip.

“Why is it so important to you, Solas?” She asked, and he recoiled. That was not something he could answer, though her asking did put him at ease. She didn’t know everything. He smoothed on the guise of the teacher.

“It is an artifact of immense power. It would be best if we could recover it intact.” He said calmly.

“I would never have expected you to be power hungry, Solas.” She tilted her head, near accusation and curiosity in her tone.

“It should be kept from the wrong hands. The events at the Conclave prove that.” He deflected, satisfying her questioning. She nodded.

“Of course you’re right. Hopefully, we can recover it.” She said earnestly, and he could not help but agree. She looked chagrined, unhappy with the turn of conversation. Whether it was how much she said, how much she didn’t say, or something else, he couldn’t say.

Always, secrets between them, and so much left unsaid. She took a step forward, and he matched it backwards. Posturing was necessary. The Herald of Andraste could not be seen having any sort of relationship with him. 

“Someone will see, Da’len.” He said, voice low.

“I don’t care one bit. Stay with me right now. Please?” She asked, voice soft and sad, tearing at him. She took a tentative step forward, arms open, waiting for him to step back again. He couldn’t bring himself to. She was streaked with filth and bog water, smelling of dead things, and it didn’t matter one bit. He wrapped his arms around her, marveling that somehow, she wanted him near, despite how much she shouldn’t.

“Will you ever cease to surprise me?” He murmured against her hair.

“Probably not.” She answered, and he couldn’t help but agree.

They made their way back to the camp after several minutes, chewing hard rations while Thenera charmed the unknown scouts and soldiers, attempting to put them at ease by complaining of the damp and the smell before making their way to their tent. They were both eager to leave in the morning, back to Haven and dry, fresh air.

They had begun developing a rhythm, something unspoken and nearly startling in its ease. She would strip her remaining armor, wiping as much blood and gore from it as possible, then wash as best she could in a basin as he carefully arranged what he needed for the morning. Her pile was always haphazard, messy by comparison, yet she somehow managed to know exactly where each item she needed rest. And often his as well. After scrubbing her teeth clean, she would unceremoniously pull her nightgown from her pack, and rise to allow him to change into his next days clothes if needed, and he would exit the tent to allow her to change once finished. 

The first night, she had simply turned her back and removed her shirt, thinking little of the gesture until he had made some sort of involuntary noise and left the tent. She had apologized, then, and it had not been repeated since, despite the small tug inside that wished it would. 

They settled into their respective bedrolls with Thenera against one wall of the tent and him in the middle, and she curled to face him in her strange, twisted sleep position.

“No more damp tomorrow, yay!” She smiled at him, something small and precious he doubted she would let anyone else see. 

The other soldier they were bunking with entered, wafting damp bog smell with them, and they both instinctively shut their eyes, pretending to be asleep until it came to claim them in truth.


	31. Violets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited 3/31/19 to add stuff I should have a while ago!

They continued much in the same way on their return back to Haven. She usually woke before him, the movement from their tightly packed bedrolls, or possibly her absence, pulling him from The Fade. Once they returned to the crisp mountain air of The Hinterlands, he often found her stretching in her nightgown and breeches when he exited the tent, a strange, almost ritual like series of movements. His eyes followed her through them, smoothing on a polite scholarly interest. She moved with near perfect control and focus to match her grace, twisting in ways that made her odd sleeping positions make more sense.

“Is that some sort of weird elf thing?” Bull asked, the morning they were due to return to Haven. The qunari watched openly, while Blackwall looked as often as he deemed it appropriate for a gentleman to do so.

“Not that I am aware. However, our Herald was raised among the Dalish, so there is a chance this is simply a colloquial ritual, so to speak.” He offered.

“It’s hot.” Bull said simply, grinning. “Flexibility, control… Lots of things you can do with that.”

“She’s our Herald. You shouldn’t think such things.” Blackwall mumbled, clearly uncomfortable.

“The Qunari truly are little better than animals. You would not say such things to her directly, would you?” Solas attempted, trying not to stray into the thoughts Bull had invited.

“Hey Boss! That thing you’re doing right now? It’s hot! Thought you should know.” He called out to her, completely unashamed. She laughed, breaking her careful control as she was halfway upside down and twisted in one of the stranger positions of the morning. She was forced to put both hands on the ground to keep her precarious positioning steady.

“Thanks Bull!” She called out, peering out from under her leg to grin in their direction. He felt a flush rise.

“What was that you were saying, Solas?” Bull asked him.

“It seems I was incorrect. In part, at least. I apologize.” He allowed.

She finished shortly and returned to their tent to don her armor and repack, which she did with startling efficiency, and they made the trek back, collecting as much elfroot as they could along the path, slowing their journey slightly.

They returned back to Haven, and though the privacy of his own cabin was a relief, it also felt strange to be so far from Thenera and the Anchor at most times of the day. He had grown accustomed to her rarely being more than a Fade Step away since the attempt on her life, and though he could feel it tugging at the range of his senses, he felt strangely bereft without it closer. Perhaps it was simply that it was his power, and it felt more comfortable close.

He found a letter waiting for him, with a scrap of white cloth caught in the melted wax, and cracked the seal.

_“We request the slow arrow change course to where they couldn’t be saved. Face to face.”_  Solas sighed. So his gambit wouldn’t work. Undoubtedly, Briala had attempted to find Felassan, only to be met with impossibility. He may have to continue his plan the more difficult way, waiting until he could restore his power and override the cornerstone himself. Or possibly steal the cornerstone. That would be easier.

_“We will see he gets the message. As you say.”_ He wrote in a hand that couldn’t be linked to his usual. This should keep her from assuming the truth, at least for a little while. He sealed it, burning the other note, and set it aside to give to Elari later.

He washed the bog from his clothing, knowing they were only likely to stay a matter of days before making their way to Redcliffe again for the envoy with Alexius, an attempt to free the mages from Tevinter dominion that he could not help but respect. Thenera had spoken little of what was to come, except that they would succeed in gaining the mages.

He bathed, taking time to thoroughly scrub, as he suspected Thenera was doing as well. He would seek her out after this and offer a meal, perhaps. Or they could visit the tavern, as she so liked to do. It would be safer as well, less likely for her to work her way under his defenses. He had not trusted himself to seek out Desire while sleeping three to a tent, and the days of close proximity had been difficult in other ways.

The one morning he had woken before her, third bedroll occupant long gone, he had found her curled towards him, shins touching his, her lashes cresting over her cheek, longer than he expected, with blue veins stark across her eyelids beneath the fragile skin. Her hand rested on his forearm like it was the most natural thing in the world, and his hand had been fisted in her nightgown. As he had disentangled himself, she had made a noise, a grumble deep in her throat, and he had been unable to stop himself from reaching out and brushing a lock of hair out of her face, feeling just how soft her pale skin was. She had grumbled again, scrubbing her hand over the spot her hair had been as though he had tickled her, stirring his protective streak.

He roused himself from the memory and put on fresh clothing as he felt the anchor begin to move steadily towards him. When it became clear she was heading to his door specifically, he stood, opening it she arrived with a welcoming smile.

“Good morning, Lethallan.” He greeted, and took in her expression. It was strangled, anxious.

“Morning, Lethallin.” She returned, twisting her mouth into an approximation of a smile. He beckoned her inside, closing the door behind him, and motioned her to sit. She all but collapsed on the rug in front of his fireplace, all sharp angles and worry making her look gaunt.

“What is the matter, Thenera? I’m not sure I’ve seen you so distressed.”

“You mean other than the assassination attempt?” She asked humorlessly. Oh. Yes, they would be departing for Redcliffe soon. Where she had nearly died. Strangled, in fact. He took a steadying breath. It would not do to have his own emotions color this exchange with anger.

“Is it because we are going back to Redcliffe? I will be with you, and will endeavor to keep you from harm.” He said. “Or is it what’s to come?”

“I… I’m not sure if I should ask you to come on this next leg.” She said, looking more lost than he had seen. He looked at her in consternation. After what had happened last time there was no chance he would be leaving her unaccompanied to the mercy of the Venatori.

“If I have any say in the matter, I will be accompanying you.” He stated flatly.

“Even without knowing what’s going to happen?” She asked, incredulous beneath her worry.

“Yes. So long as I live through it.” He said, and she nodded through a pained expression.

“I want you there. There is no one I would rather have by my side, after what we’ve been through. It would be smart, tactically. But… It’s going to make afterwards harder.” She offered, just enough to leave him more questions.

But they were unimportant right now. He would be going with her. The anchor could not be risked in such a way, and the last time she had come to his cabin, expecting safety and offering to bring the Enchantress in his stead, she had been mistaken. If he had not been there, she would have been lost, along with much of his hope.

“I will abide the consequences, Da’len.” He said, reassuring. She smiled, sadly, knowing more than she was willing to say, and he gazed into her eyes. He realized with a start that she had not wafted the smell of roses with her, and her hair was lank, bound into a braid to hide how long it had been since washing.

“Have you been able to take a bath since?” He asked, breaking her reverie. She sucked in a hard breath and glanced away, shamed.

“No. I... “ She trailed off, pausing before she seemed to find the words she needed. “It’s so dumb. I love baths. They were one of my all time favorite things. I’m not sure I’ll be able to enjoy the smell of roses either. They’re my favorite flower.”

Something black and ugly coiled in him, wishing he could kill the assassin several more times. Or perhaps present him to her so she might have the honor. She would probably like that, fierce creature that she was. Fierce and thoughtful, ruthless and kind. It made sense that roses would be her favorite, delicate petals belying their bite, and much hardier than they appeared.

“Thenera. You are many things. Dumb is not one of them. Will you allow me to assist you?” He asked cautiously. “I would be happy to ward your cabin and sit watch outside.” He added quickly, before she could misconstrue the offer. She mulled it over.

“I think… I think that would help. I would appreciate it.” She finally answered, clearly hating needing the help to begin with. Her stomach rumbled audibly. Had she not eaten today either?

“Perhaps after a trip to the tavern?” He asked, a wry twist on his face.

“Sounds like a good plan.” Thenera replied, standing from her spot on the floor and looking at him hesitantly. “If… If we run into the others, could you please not tell them?”

He gave her a questioning look in response, unsure why she would ask.

“Out there, I have to be the Herald of Andraste. The Herald of Andraste can’t need help to bathe. They can see me battered, bruised, and naked, but they can never see me weak. What was it you said? Posturing is necessary.”

He gave her a nod, not trusting his voice. Her expression shifted, smoothing into the smile she wore so often in company. The one that was cavalier and ever poised. Yes, perhaps Wisdom was right. They were alike in many ways.

After their meal, he walked to guard her bath. She kept her poise, but he could see under the cracks as she approached the cabin. He warded it quickly, and went to sit on a crate against the side of the small wooden structure, even smaller than the one he had been given.

She nodded her thanks and entered, and he pulled out a book written by a Chantry scholar, on the nature of the veil. It was fascinating to see what the people now made of it, where it was a fact of life and not the forced abomination separating worlds he knew it to be.

He heard the water splash, and he could smell, wafting through the shuttered windows, violets. Ah, so she had chosen another flower, one far more delicate, to replace the roses she loved. Perhaps she would return to them someday. Or perhaps he would become used to this new scent in relation to her.

It was an interesting choice, one fraught with meaning he could not quite push from his mind. There was the most common romantic interpretation, but violets had also been used as a pain reliever in areas bereft of elfroot, and had been associated with wisdom in the past. They were also fragrant and edible, much like roses, and often served candied among nobility to... sweeten the juice of their loins.

Had she known? Would she be so subtle as to entice him thus? There would be rare opportunity to learn the hidden meaning of plants, beyond most useful, among the Dalish. Or was he underestimating her again?

He heard more gentle splashing, and a caught breath, wrenching him to verify she was alright. But nothing had pinged his wards, and if he were to fly in while she was bathing, after the previous incident, she may gut him on pure instinct before her rational mind could catch up. He clenched his jaw, and fixed his gaze on the book, not seeing a word on the page. There was another splashing sound, something much louder that might have been her getting out of the tub, and then silence.

After a few minutes, she exited her cabin, her cordial mask firmly in place, after the fastest bath he had known her to take.

“Thank you, Solas.” She said, smiling, grateful yet wooden.

“You’re welcome, Lethallan. I believe we both have other obligations, I will leave you to yours.” He returned her smile, and took his leave before he could become more curious about the smell of violets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually had no idea about the meanings behind violets before I wrote this, I just like the smell, so for once, Solas might actually be overestimating Thenera. It was fascinating to see how many relevant things were related though!


	32. Shimmering Desire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MORE SMUT, NSFW FOR SURE
> 
> Ok, now that I'm learning to get over my own awkwardness about it, writing it is so much easier. Please tell me what you think, and skip if you don't wanna read naughty stuff!
> 
> Elvhen translations at the end!

“How do I look?” She purred, fixing him with a stare that was far too languid. “Now is your chance to say what you wish you had said then, Sweet Wolf.”

She stood on stairs above him, replaying his memory, clad in shimmering cream silk, artfully stitched and pleated, that had left him woefully unprepared to speak. Only now it was just the two of them in this Orlesian inn, and he was free to say what he wished without consequence. 

“You are moonlight given form, Emmaera. You are a rare, precious creature whose beauty is the least captivating thing about you. Every day you surpass my expectations, and I wish little more than to give you everything you deserve. Please, allow me to beg your forgiveness.” 

Her eyes drifted closed, hanging on each word like she had so many times in front of the campfire. 

“And how would you beg? You do know just how fond I am of your silver tongue…” Desire smiled, a slow, soft mimicry of Thenera’s usual wicked one. 

“On my knees of course, Hahren.” He answered in kind. Her eyes widened in a beautiful approximation of her surprise.

“I'll allow it.” She answered. Her lips, berry pink and luscious, curled into a predatory smirk, and she shivered, her nipples rising beneath the thin fabric.

He approached her, still standing two stairs above him, and ran his fingers over the silk, feather light, drinking in the texture of the crinkled fabric and the beads that were cool and heavy down the sides. She let out a small breathy noise at the caress, and he could feel the heat that emanated from her through the light material. He continued trailing them up her body, feeling her thighs and hips and stomach beneath, just whispers of promise beneath his fingers. 

“I believe you promised me on your knees, Sweet Wolf.” Desire said.

“And so I did.” He lowered himself to kneel in front of her, running his hands down her legs as he did, until he found the hem of the gown. He let his hands work under it, finding her ankles and delicately boned feet bare, and gliding his hands back up her unreasonably soft skin. He lifted the dress and ducked his head beneath the hem, letting it settle on his shoulders. 

Inside, the air was warm and thick with the smell of her, roses and violets and the musk of her arousal. The silk glowed around him, playing patterns of crinkled shadows on the creamy skin of her thighs.

He turned his head, kissing her knees and up her thighs, slowly and deliberately. He was alone in his bed, there was no rush this evening, and he intended to savor every moment. He kissed the top of one thigh, exhaling a hot breath across the sensitive skin that cloaked her core before moving to the other thigh, making her hiss in anticipation. 

He teased his tongue across the ridge of bone at her hip, running his fingers, feather light, up the backs of her thighs to cup her ass, holding her as she shivered, and he nipped the skin he’d just licked, startling her to jump against him with a moan.

“Solas…” She said.

He chuckled, delighting in her reaction, desire surging with every sweet noise and shiver she gave him. 

“We have all night, and I intend to have you all night.” He answered. He called ice to his tongue, and swirled it across the the crease where her thigh and hip met, and she jumped and hissed, arching into him.

“Fenedhis. I’ve never wanted so much. Solas, please..” She gasped, beginning to lose her composure.

“So soon, Emmaera? Shhh… It’s alright. I will unravel you and put you back together anew, over and over. This, I can promise you.” He murmured the words against her skin, hot breath against the cold wet trail his tongue had just left, and she shivered into him. He lowered himself to place wet kisses along her thigh, blowing on them softly and marveling in the goosebumps that raised in his wake. 

“Yes, ma’fen, take me apart, unravel me.” She breathed, voice tight with need. 

He decided to grant her a small mercy, and finally brought his mouth to her folds. He lapped out, once, and listened to her sharp intake of breath as he made contact with the sensitive skin there, flushed and swollen for him. He inhaled her scent deeply, wishing he had brought it from memory. In this fantasy, she smelled rich and sharp and earthy, violets tinging the scent, and he would drown in her if possible.

He began in earnest, licking in slow, steady strokes above the pearl of her, gripping her to his face by her ass, and she moaned, breathy, high pitched sounds to spur him on, force him to speed his pace, but he wouldn’t be swayed so easily. He continued, delighting in the agonizingly slow strokes, making her whine with delicious need, fingers curling into his shoulders to support herself.

When her legs began to shake, he lowered her, never stopping his ministrations, until she lay against the stairs, freeing his hands from supporting her weight. He spread her knees, never breaking from his steady lapping, and traced another feather light touch up the inside of one of her thighs. She shuddered, pulling close around him and breaking into an exquisite cry as she came. 

He increased his pressure and pace and continued, coaxing her into another shuddering orgasm, and he slid two fingers into her to feel her convulse around him, only bearing down further until her body reluctantly yielded another, and another, and another, until she was begging.

“Sweet Wolf I can’t, I can’t... “ She pleaded.

“You can, Ma’lea’vune.” He told her, finally pulling back from under her dress. “Have I begged your forgiveness sufficiently?”

He looked at her, flushed and heaving, arching against the stairs with her hair mussed. Her gaze, too dull despite being brilliantly green, held his and she bit her lip in consideration. 

“No, ma’fen.” She decided. “I need to taste myself on you, I need you filling me, spilling in me.”

“Very well, ma’isalathe.” He lowered his lips to hers, and she drank in the juices filling his mouth, licking at his chin. He worked a hand down over the silk covering one breast, cupping it and pinching her nipple through the fabric, and she gasped into him. 

He removed his clothing with a tug of will, grasping himself with his free hand, painfully hard, and rubbed his head against her slick. 

She gasped and bucked towards him, horribly sensitive, and he stayed, rubbing against her clit patiently until she broke in another wave, crying out her pleasure into their kiss. Only then did he enter her, hot and pulsing around him, and he groaned into her.

He stilled himself and waited for the aftershocks to pass before moving again. Slow, patient strokes that would allow him to pull every drop of pleasure possible from her before slaking his own. He looked at her face, twisted beautifully in pleasure, and wound his fingers in her silky, mussed hair. Her nails dug into his back and her eyes fluttered, mostly closed and unseeing, flushed under the berry pink branches of Vallaslin. He pulled her head to the side, lowering his lips to her ear, kissing and nipping with each stroke, unable to stop the building need now.

“Take me harder, lose yourself to the desire, the need.” She urged, and he obliged her, driving with enough force to bounce her along the ridge of the stairs, moan breaking with each driving stroke.

“Yes, Vhenan, yes!” She cried out, and his vision turned white as he came, waves and waves of pleasure that released as his logical mind caught up to what a spirit of desire had shown him he wanted. 

He woke abruptly in a sweat, pulled from The Fade by his own conflicting emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emmaera- Dream of Mine
> 
> Ma'lea'vune- My moonlight
> 
> Ma'isalathe- My desire


	33. Redcliffe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're finally at Redcliffe with Solas! 
> 
> There's a chance this will be the only chapter I upload today. Today has been a very bad day which either means I'm gonna write like 5 chapters, or I'm just gonna curl into a ball and let the void have me for the night. We'll see.
> 
> Elvhen at the end, courtesy of the wonderful FenXShiral!

Her shoulders had become more and more rigid as they approached the castle at Redcliffe. Again, she seemed more of a living statue than flesh and blood, something seeming very nearly divine, and achingly, blazingly beautiful. _Vhenan_. Was that truly what he wanted?

They threw open the doors for their group after they dismounted, and she led them inside. Venatori were waiting, wearing similar garb to the assassin, and he watched cooly as her anger welled. They seemed unsure how to handle their group, hesitating and shifting their weight. Perhaps they meant to kill them right here.

“Announce us.” Thenera commanded, venom laced through her words. She crossed her arms, tiny scars on her knuckles turning white, the only thing giving lie to her haughty nonchalance.

“The Magister’s invitation was for Mistress Lavellen alone. The others must wait here.” A servant said, stepping around the wary guard.

“I could just head back to Haven in that case. Last time I was here, one of your people attempted assassination. If he wants me to believe he treats in earnest, you’ll be allowing my retinue.” She said imperiously, waving a hand and fixing him with one of her too deep stares.

The man who had spoken glanced between them, deciding which course of action would most suit his master, before he nodded and led them up through the castle.

“My Lord Magister, the agents of the Inquisition have arrived.” The pawn announced, and Alexius stood from the throne to greet them with false cheer, ignoring Fiona, who stood to one side.

“My friend! It’s so good to see you again!” He called out, a honeyed trap. “And your… Associates, of course. I’m sure we can work out some arrangement that is equitable to all parties.”

“Are we mages to have no voice in deciding our fate?” Fiona broke in, coming to stand near Solas. Thenera turned to them, offering a look that could not be interpreted as reassuring by anyone other than him, but he was certain she intended as such.

“Fiona, you would not have turned your mages over to my care if you did not trust me with their lives.” Alexius answered.

“Yea, because you’re just soooo trustworthy.” Thenera answered, casting a dry glare at the Magister. He realized with a start that she wasn’t posturing. She was a leader, through and through. She had been since the beginning, as she took point through perilous mountain passes, into spider infested caves she detested.

“The Magisterium tells me that so often. Shall we begin our talks?” He turned, walking slowly back to the throne and settling himself back onto it, a man much used to being in the seat of power. “The Inquisition needs mages to close the Breach, and I have them, so, what shall you offer in exchange?”

“Nothing. I’m just going to give the mages their freedom and leave.” She answered, shrugging slightly. His brows inclined. She would give them their freedom? Would she even have that power? She was ever careful to speak what she meant, which meant…

“And how do you imagine you would accomplish such a thing?” Alexius asked, incredulous and far too arrogant.

“She knows everything.” His son spoke, calm and certain. Oh, if only he knew how true, and how false, those words were.

“Felix, what have you done?” Alexius asked, turning to look at him until Thenera spoke again, pulling his gaze back.

“I wouldn’t worry too much. We just neutralized your trap and used the envoy as a diversion to destroy your forces from the inside, no big deal.” She smiled, one of her feral, predatory smiles, shifting her hips in a distracting roll. _Galanor_.

“I’ve yet to see your cleverness, I’m afraid.” Alexius scoffed, but Thenera’s smile only grew sharper. She was not to be underestimated, and yet, so many saw the slight frame and wide eyes, and assumed weakness. He certainly had. “You walk into my stronghold with your stolen mark, a gift you don’t even understand, and think you’re in control. You’re nothing but a mistake.”

He could not help the smile that echoed his fierce dream’s. This was a gambit well played. A mistake, perhaps. But a much better one than the mistake of allowing Corypheus to obtain his orb. A mistake that might allow him to fix everything. And strong enough to do it. Perhaps, the best mistake he had inadvertently made. _Vhenan_ , her voice played. His heart skipped.

“I may have been a mistake, but at least I’m pretty, right?” She winked, playing right into his hand.

“Father, listen to yourself! Do you know what you sound like?” Felix entreated.

“He sounds exactly like the sort of villainous cliche everyone expects us to be.” The Tevinter man, whom Thenera had seemed so fond of, entered with a swagger. What was it, Dorian?

“Dorian.” Alexius confirmed, grim disappointment in his voice. “I gave you the chance to be part of this. You turned me down. The Elder One has power you would not believe. He will raise the Imperium from its own ashes.”

“Oooh, let’s add at least I’m not part of some would-be-god worshipping cult to that list of mine, shall we?” Thenera said, shifting her weight closer to Dorian and crossing her arms. Interesting.

“Soon he will become a god.” Alexius said, sounding crazed. “He will make the world bow to mages once more. We will rule from the Boric Ocean to the Frozen Seas.”

“You can’t involve my people in this!” Fiona cried.

“Alexius, this is exactly what you and I talked about never wanting to happen! Why would you support this?” Dorian took a step towards him, exasperated.

“Stop it, Father. Give up the Venatori, let the Southern mages fight the Breach, and let’s go home.” Felix pleaded again.

“No! It’s the only way, Felix. He can save you!” Alexius implored, sounding desperate.

“Save me?” He asked, confused.

“There is a way. The Elder One promised. If I undo the mistake at the Temple…” He turned back to Thenera, ready to exact vengeance for a death that hadn’t happened yet. It would be admirable, were he not targeting an innocent. Especially this innocent. His innocent.

“I am going to die. You need to accept that.” His son said. Alexius ignored him.

“Seize them, Venatori! The Elder One demands this woman’s life!” He cried.

Every one of his guards dropped simultaneously, and he had to give Leliana credit for her style. It was quite beautiful. Just enough statement without being too flashy. Thenera barely turned, just glanced for a split second before turning back to the throne.

“Your men are dead Alexius.” Thenera stated, grin gone despite the victory. In fact, she seemed as though she was bracing herself. He saw her jaw muscle bunch and twitch, and he braced himself as well, following her lead.

“You are a mistake! You should never have existed!” Alexius cried, pulling a pendant from his neck and setting it to glowing.

“No!” Dorian cried, striking out with his magic, which bounded off Alexius harmlessly, and a rift, something unlike anything he had seen, opened, swallowing Thenera and Dorian, leaving a scorch mark in its place.

The pulse from the anchor disappeared. Gone. For a moment he was left reeling, unable to comprehend what had just happened. A roar rose in his ears. Gone. _Vhenan_. She couldn’t be gone, not so easily. Panic began to well, bubbling up and up. He was about to snap, to incinerate Alexius like the assassin he’d sent.

Another rift opened, and Thenera and Dorian staggered through it, trailing the tainted miasma of red lyrium before it snapped shut.

“You’ll have to do better than that.” Dorian cried out cavalierly. Relief broke, and he released a shaking breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Alexius fell to his knees, strange gambit having failed.

“Is that the best you can do?” Thenera spat viciously. She was covered in grime and splattered in blood, tear tracks streaked through the dust on her face, but she stood, unwavering and resolute.

“You won. There’s no point extending this charade.” Alexius wilted, collapsing to his knees, and turned to his son. “Felix…”

Felix crouched beside him.

“It’s going to be alright, Father.” He smiled sadly.

“You’ll die.” His voice cracked, and he could almost feel pity for this magister who would have handed the world to this Elder One.

“Everyone dies.” Felix said. A pang of guilt ripped through him. It shouldn’t be so. Not for the elves, for his people. For Thenera.

She caught his gaze, just for a split second, something cracked and terrible behind her eyes, and she turned, offering no explanation. She turned to each of the others in succession, offering a smile, bright and relieved as she caught each of their confused looks. Why could she not hold his gaze? What had she seen? Why was he the only one she had given such a dark look to?

The Inquisition’s scouts took Alexius away, and Dorian turned to Thenera.

“Well I’m glad that’s over with.” He said, offering her a grim smile that she returned. She seemed to nearly be leaning on him, too familiar for such a short acquaintance. Even if she knew him from her dreams, Dorian returned the gesture. What had happened in those scant seconds?

Men marched in, demanding they vacate the premises, and forcing Fiona and the mages out. Thenera immediately offered them a place in the Inquisition, as she had said. As allies. She could have offered them anything, and they would have been at her mercy, and she chose to grant them a home and freedom. It was more than even he could have hoped for. She truly was a wonder, too good for the cruel world his mistakes had left for her. Though she still wouldn’t look at him. Had she seen something of him, to make her glance in such a way?

They made their way back to an Inquisition camp for the evening, unwilling to chance the tavern again. As they did, it became increasingly clear; she was avoiding him.

As they arrived, she had still not held his gaze. A glass of wine was thrust into her hand by Dorian, and she pulled him into their tent, returning after a brief interlude, with an empty cup and without her armor, clearly having washed up.

A surge of irrational jealousy welled. Even if he assumed the worst, she was not bound to him in any way. She did not owe him anything. In fact, he had spurned and pushed her away whenever possible. It should be a good thing, for her to find someone that was not him, but Desire’s voice played in his head, reminding him of the truth of his own selfish heart. Vhenan.

“Alright, so, what’s up, and what’s going on with the pretty boy.” Bull asked, blunt as ever. They traded looks, and Dorian went to refill their glasses before they began weaving a story together. Of time travel, a dark future, an assassination, a veil left in tatters, with red lyrium rampant, and an army of demons under this Elder One. And there was more, more she didn’t say. She had that look, though she cast it elsewhere.

“Shit Glowy.” Varric said as they spoke of returning, using the same amulet that had sent them through in the first place, after defeating Alexius.

“Wow. That’s… Wow.” Bull added.

“You are certain you experienced time travel? Could it have been an illusion? A trick from The Fade?” Solas asked, though he was inclined to believe.

“Dorian?” Thenera immediately deferred to him. His jaw clenched. This would be magister lived in a land of slavery, and Thenera was now deflecting Solas to him. This man who very probably owned Elves, and his dream, branded by slave markings, was treating him with camaraderie.

“Oh yes. We made the amulet together in fact, many years ago. It never worked then, it was a purely theoretical magic. It must have something to do with the Breach. He said himself he could never return beyond that point.”

“Fascinating.” He offered, and fell silent.

Dorian rose and refilled his and Thenera’s glasses. He had not seen her drink so much so quickly, she usually stopped at one or two, carefully measured over the course of the evening. He had never questioned it before, as she had much to keep secret. Loss of control would not benefit her, the same reason he generally abstained, beyond the abysmal brewing capacities of the shemlen.

“Oh Dorian, I’m sure you won’t mind bunking with Bull and Varric tonight?” She asked. Good. At least she was not intending to sleep with the man. He pushed down another surge of ugliness that demanded he gloat over this perceived victory.

“You’d have me bunk with a Qunari savage?” He asked, outraged.

“You’re gonna have to eventually. At least now you’ll have Varric in the tent too to protect you.” She shot him a grin, starting to become sloppy from the wine.

“I take it you’ve killed lots of my countrymen?” Dorian turned to Bull.

“Sure, Usually when I’m being paid for it.” Bull said nonchalantly.

“Never just for fun?” Dorian pressed.

“I’m here, aren’t I? Man’s gotta take his fun where he can find it.” Bull responded, and that seemed to mollify Dorian, at least a little.

They went back to talking and drinking, and once he finished his dinner, he retreated to their tent, shooting Thenera an entreating look, which she ignored. His lips tightened, and he ducked into the tent to read until she deigned to join him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Galanor-magnificent 
> 
> I'm playing around with the idea of doing a short of alternate future Solas... Because clearly we need more angst 🙃


	34. Worth It

At some point he must have fallen asleep. He had read, waiting for Thenera to return, for hours. Eventually, the noise level must have dropped to the point he could drift into The Fade, unwilling to stray far so that he could wake easily.

Finally, a spluttered curse and crashing sound pulled him back to the waking. He rose, seeing her struggling to remove her boots in her bedroll, weaving and sloppy. His lips tightened in annoyance as his the sleep lifted.

“You’ve been drinking I see. With the would be magister? How much have you had?” He asked, harsher than he intended, rising to his elbows.

“Probably too much.” Thenera slurred slightly, shoulders unusually slumped. “Varric and Bull too, but they went to bed. But then Dorian abandoned me to the night mercilessly after admitting defeat to my radiance.” She rolled the ‘r’ and giggled, a high, wild sound.

“I see.” He responded flatly, wondering how to even handle this version of Thenera. She looked at him, that same unnamed emotion rising back to the surface, something ominous and uncertain.

“Can… Can I say something?” She asked, sounding more fragile than he’d ever heard her, pulling something in him.

“Of course, Thenera.” He tried to sound reassuring, and sat up properly to listen, casting a sound barrier.

“Solas… I….” She paused, struggling to find the right words in her inebriation, and let out a frustrated sigh. “Do you know what it’s like when you wear armor all the time? And it starts feeling like your skin, and people think it is, so it becomes your skin. It gets harder and harder to take it off, to feel so exposed and so _squishy_. But the longer you go without taking it off the more desperately your skin underneath needs to breathe. But you can’t. It fuses around the edges and the parts you can take off… It’s like you need to put up a barrier before you even can. The armor is part of you. But it’s only part. And…” She trailed off after her rush of words, spoken far faster than her usual measured pace, not knowing how to continue. She let out another sigh. “Do you know what that’s like?”

“I… yes. I think I do.” He said. He knew it well. He had known it for millennia. You couldn’t become the leader of a rebellion with a soft side. He had learned long ago to lock his away, to swath himself in layers and layers of armor. And she had worked her way under some of his. She had become a part of him, somehow.

“Can I please be squishy for a little while?” She said it in a rush, eyes shut as though she feared his answer, feared he would deny her this. He swallowed, not trusting his voice, and gradually, she met his gaze again. He nodded, and she flew across the tent towards him, scattering his armor and flinging her arms around him desperately, nearly tight enough to be painful. Once the shock passed, he wrapped his arms around her too, drawing her into a more comfortable embrace.

“You did not need the wine to be your barrier for this, da’len.” He murmured against her, and sobs began to shake her slight frame against him.

“I watched you die.” She managed through the wine and tears. This was not what he expected. “The red lyrium ate you from the inside and I couldn’t save you.”

Oh. That was what she had failed to say, earlier, by the campfire. She had seen him die in another world.

“It’s alright. That future will never come to pass, thanks to you.” He stroked her hair, and she made a relieved noise deep in her chest, somehow managing to clutch tighter as tears worked through his tunic. He rocked slightly with her, still stroking her fairy soft hair.

“I know. It’s not enough. I saw so much pain and suffering and now it’s just… gone. You endured a year of torture, and I couldn’t help. And now we’re back and none of it happened, but it was real.” She choked out, and an audible sob wrenched free as she clung to him like a lifeline.

All of this was for him? He looked back on her earlier reactions and reframed them. She had seen him die, and it had hurt her so much that she couldn’t face him without seeing it. She cared, so deeply, and she had lost him. _It will make afterwards harder_ , her voice played. He had told her he would suffer the consequences, never once thinking that she would be the one to pay them. He truly was a prideful creature. It seemed it was her fate to pay for his oversights. He tightened his grip reflexively, as though there was some way to save her from his mistakes. Would that he could.

“It’s alright to mourn, da’len.” He murmured against her, and her grip fell slack. His hand moved to her chin, tilting it up to meet his gaze. Her eyes were red and puffy, shining with tears that still fell freely, face twisted in misery. He wiped away the tears with his thumb, and her eyes drifted shut, letting more fall as she trembled in his arms. “What you saw must never be allowed to transpire. Allow this to blaze a path to this ‘Elder One’s’ downfall.”

“You died for me.” She sobbed, great, wracking things and she hid her face in the crook of his neck, clutching him with hands and arms far stronger than expected. He rocked her, holding this precious cargo. In this future, after spending one year being tortured and eaten by red lyrium, seeing everything he had hoped for fail spectacularly… Of course he would sacrifice himself for the chance to fix it. She must have been the only bright point of hope, knowing as he did that there was a chance she would return, that she would never have walked into a death trap.

“Then I must have thought it was worth it.” He responded finally, and a fresh round of sobs went up.

He rocked her silently for a time, until her sobs abated to only tears again. He whispered sweet placating words to her while her eyes emptied, and as they did, he sang for her one of the few songs that had survived the passage of time from Arlathan, a lullaby she would surely know from her childhood. She sagged against him, rumbling sweet sounds against his chest, and he lay back with her still pressed to his side. She curled up with her cheek on his chest, body pressed tight against him, and fell into the deep sleep of exhaustion and overindulgence.

He drifted, too conflicted to truly sleep. Around their normal time to wake, Varric called in that they would be staying until lunch to allow Dorian and Thenera to sleep off their hangovers.

Ah. Yes. Her attachment to Dorian made more sense, framed in the proper context. They had faced horrors together, ones that they could never truly share with anyone else. He had seen this alternate Solas give his life for her, and had seen Felix and Alexius die. No wonder they had stayed up until early morning drinking together.

She was still in his arms, unmoved from the previous night, with her hand curled into a fist over his heart. His heart, which beat harder with her pressed close. Vhenan. He leaned down and kissed her hair, smelling of violets instead of roses, and he tightened his grip around her.


	35. Sneeze

They had almost made it back to Haven uneventfully, with the mages to follow a few days after their return, when a strange sound split the companionable silence, high and tiny, coming from Thenera.

“Andraste’s tits, Glowy, was that a… sneeze? Or did you step on a nug?” Varric asked. She looked chagrined.

“I always sneeze like that.” She responded, miffed. It was unfairly adorable, and Solas felt his ears heat.

“I take you seriously, Herald of Andraste…” The dwarf laughed, hope and the promise of sealing the breach making his tone lighter than usual.

“You’re shitting me Boss. That was a sneeze?” Bull asked, joining the laugh. Dorian joined as well, sans commentary, and he couldn’t help the jovial feeling that bubbled up from him either. Thenera scrunched her nose at them and stuck out her tongue, causing his laugh to catch in his throat. She attempted a glare that was belied by a smile as she put her tongue away. 

It was impossibly pink. And long, nearly obscenely so, curling at the tip as though to wrap around... He put up an impassive mask reflexively. 

“Oh my little minx, you must leave men salivating with that! Or is it women? I suppose it works for both.” Dorian teased, glancing at Solas. What had Dorian seen of him, in the red future where he gave his life for hers? What would that Solas have let slip knowing he was destined to die? Was there a chance he had said something ill conceived? Was the would be magister now pushing as Varric usually did, or were his motives elsewhere? 

“It does work for both.” She winked at the Tevinter mage. “Usually men though.”

He forced himself to take deep, measured breaths. 

“How does it even fit in there?” Bull asked with his usual subtlety. 

“I'm sure you hear that all the time.” She responded, and he let out a hearty laugh. Dorian flushed, as he had not while flirting with Thenera. Interesting. Quite misplaced jealousy indeed.

They arrived at Haven shortly after, and split ways after leaving their horses at the stables, presumably to scrub the travel off, and for Thenera, to be ensconced in meetings with the advisors.

After some time, he felt the anchor coming closer. He rose, placing his sketchbook down, to greet her at the door, but she stopped nearby instead. Odd. Perhaps she simply needed to check in on something. He would wait, and be patient. He opened his book again, wishing he had the space for a mural to properly dedicate to her, to her triumphs, and continued working on his current piece in charcoal. 

What would happen if he gave in? If he allowed himself this one happiness before the end? He could never truly give her what she deserved. He could never take advantage of her, laying with her as he had with Desire, with so many secrets withheld. How would she react? To find the man she called friend, cried to lose, wanted, was the very one who had locked away the gods she believed in? Was the very ‘god’ who was the villain in every tale? Whom they invoked as a curse, though she had not done so, not yet. It would be wiser to leave her be. Though… That was not what Wisdom herself thought. 

Perhaps… He had underestimated her at every turn. Was there a chance he had again? If so, it would be slim. Her people hunted those in need of punishment in trousers with nails driven through them, in his name. To expect her forgiveness and understanding with the legends in place… He couldn’t forgive himself, without the embellishments of time. No. He could not tell her. 

And she was still at the Apothecary, the anchor tugging him, reminding him of her proximity, which was not nearly close enough. He should not… And yet. He closed his sketchbook, and rose to head next door.

He found a sight he hadn’t expected. Thenera was swimming in one of Adan’s leather aprons, bits of elfroot up to her elbows, her pale hair escaping from the braid she had taken to wearing it in when she needed to keep it from her face, and wreathed in steam. The sharp herbal scent permeated the cabin, and she turned to greet him, smiling. 

“Adan. Ah, Herald.” He said, not needing to feign surprise. “I was unaware you made potions. I have come to see if I might be of assistance.”

“This is my first time.” Thenera said, grinning through the wreaths of steam as the muscles of her forearms worked to pull apart the fibers beneath her fingers. She must be quite resilient to heat to be doing this particular job without gloves or magic. “At least… At this. Never learned in my clans, that was always someone else’s job. They’re weird about one person doing too many jobs. Your assistance would be appreciated though, lethallin.”

“I see. I have learned many skills of necessity. Shall I help pulp or fetch water?” He asked, choosing not to acknowledge her inappropriate comment with company watching. 

“Fetch water. Our herald isn’t wholly incompetent at this.” Adan said gruffly, and he couldn’t help the note of irritation that flared before he smoothed his face back to mildness. She was apparently quite competent if she was doing this part, the most skill intensive part that didn’t require magic. He would help her, and grabbed the buckets near the door.

“Then I shall return shortly.” He offered.

“Ma serannas, Solas.” Thenera said, giving him a lopsided smile that made his heart flutter uncomfortably. Vhenan. 

The next several hours passed in grueling repetition as they made more potions than he had made at one time in his life. His muscles, weak from his long sleep, screamed in protest as the sun set, and Adan called an end to the day. There was a nervous determination to Thenera’s movements, despite her cavalier banter, and he suggested dinner in his cabin to hear more about why she had been conserving elfroot, and why she had started learning to make potions now, instead of leaving Adan to it, as she had in the past. 

She sat, cross-legged, on the rug in front of the fireplace, comfortable in his space. Possibly more comfortable than he himself felt. He brought out some simple food, a cloth, and his waterskin, and laid them out between them. 

“You have never shown an interest in potion making before, lethallan.” He said, tearing a piece of bread from the loaf and offering it to her. Her fingers brushed his, a soft, light touch that he couldn’t help but savor.

“We’re going to need them.” Thenera responded, tearing the piece into smaller bites and chewing one thoughtfully.

“Soon?” He asked. There must be a time factor, to have spent the day doing grueling work, which she had refused to take a potion to relieve.

“Soon.” She stated.

“Can you say more?” He tilted his head, hoping for more than one word.

“I don’t think so.” She said, worry creasing her brow, placing a berry in her mouth, far too distracting for the subject at hand. “We need to be as ready as possible though. The stores in the Chantry seem light. I would have us be as prepared as possible. You should pack a bag of essentials and things you can’t be without.”

“Then why not tell a select few what is coming, at the least? You could say it a gift from the mark.” He offered her. It was not as though it would be unbelievable. She shook her head in a small motion, brows furrowed. He took a bite of bread.

“If I did that, I think too much would change.” She mused. “As terrible as some of the steps are, I know they lead to victory. Would you compromise a victory for the sake of a single battle?” Of course he wouldn’t. Just as he wouldn’t choose another to end up with the anchor, despite everything she had been through.

“Ah. I see your reasoning. I would not.” He looked into her eyes, piercing green, trying to reconcile her position and the thrum in his heart.

“Then help me make potions tomorrow, please.” She gave him a small smile, and he nodded.


	36. Inarticulate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is being... Difficult. So it may not happen tomorrow, sorry!

He watched her as they continued eating, lapsing into comfortable silence.

His muscles began to scream in protest in a new way, and he must have made a face, because Thenera moved, asking his permission to touch him.

He nodded silently, not trusting his voice. If he had said anything, it might be a plea, or he might have denied her. There was no telling which anymore.

She rose and settled behind him, placing her strong archer’s hands exactly where his muscles screamed, working into them with surprising finesse. A groan escaped, a concession to her touch he could not hold back. She worked steadily, slowly across the ridges of his shoulders and in between his shoulder blades, strength in her fingers unyielding, forcing his muscles instead to yield to her skill.

She leaned closer, bringing her hands to the front of his body, and he could feel her breath on the back of his neck, utterly paralyzing him. She cupped her hands around the curve of his shoulders, touch gentle and tentative until she dug her fingertips into the joint, finding a spot he had not even realized was sore, and another deep rumble escaped from his chest.

Once that spot had loosened, she moved. He raised his head as he felt her heat, and the pull of the anchor move around him. It was almost as though he could feel her aura as in days of old, but that was impossible.

She knelt in front of him, eyes wide and face flushed, seeming to enjoy this as much as he did. What had she said in the Hinterlands? Something about dominating his focus? Well… She was succeeding. If she had any designs on pushing past what he would allow, he would be hard pressed to care to stop her. He attempted to bolster his resolve, wary.

“Shh, lethallin. I promise I won’t take advantage of you. Rest your head on my shoulder.” She said. The control he had started gathering drifted away on her words, and he did as she bade as his heart twinged in disappointment. The fabric of her blouse was soft under his forehead, and she brought her talented fingers to the back of his neck. She pushed and pulled and stretched the muscles, shooting tendrils of singing sensation up his scalp and down his spine, turning the space behind his eyelids white.

When that released sufficiently, she brought fingertips to the base of his skull and pressed, sending all thought from his mind as it filled with tingling warmth. She held the pressure for a moment, long enough to sink into the sensation with a groan, and then she carefully, slowly, released it. Waves rocked out from the spot as he lifted his gaze to meet hers. Her pupils were shot with desire, and she glanced down quickly, breathing harder than strictly necessary. Unless she was hurting as much as he had been… And she was ignoring it in favor of easing his pain. That did seem like something Thenera would do.

Before he could rally himself to pull back, or offer to return the favor, she had started on his hands. She worked on them, strong and careful over the callouses and between the bones. She worked up his forearm, along the corded muscles, and a jolt shot down his arm, somewhere between pain and pleasure, and he hissed. She paused, lightening her touch.

“Should I back off?” She asked, voice husky.

“No.” He said, before his mind could say otherwise. “That feels…” His eyes fluttered shut. “No.”

Thenera laughed, something rich and soft that made him shiver, and she bore down on the resistant knot once more before moving to his other arm.

When her hands stilled on his arm, he thought for a moment she was finished, and began to open his eyes to reach for her in return, he found her staring.

Her hands raised to his face, and his eyes slipped closed again as she worked on his jaw muscles, then trailed her long fingers up to his forehead, fanning them against his scalp as she rubbed her index fingers across his temples in unison. She slipped them down behind his ears next, and finally, across his scalp.

She floated her fingers across the skin, and he had never realized just how sensitive it was. She worked the muscles, fanning out and down and across, and finally ended by scratching along his scalp. _Galanor_.

She pulled back, and he caught her wrist. He lifted his gaze to hers, and when they met, her breath hitched. She was flushed, breathing hard. Her hand was lax, unresisting in his grip. All her gorgeous strength, and she was gazing at him as though caught in his trap.

“Thenera…” He rumbled, voice low. “You are quite skilled at that.”

“I did tell you I had many skills. Back in Val Royeaux.” She said thickly. She had, and he had underestimated her yet again.

“So you did.” He laughed, happiness and curiosity and surprise bubbling. “I find myself more and more curious.”

“Oh?” She asked, meeting his gaze, heat in her eyes, making her look very nearly like Desire.

“Yes.” He answered. Her wrist was still caught in his grip. Caught in his trap, caught….

“I would be curious about your skills as well.” She said, challenging him.

Not caught. He was caught, drowning in desire. Another laugh rumbled from him. His skills. There were so many he could show her. Tonight, he could settle for this one. He released her wrist, settling her hand in his.

“May I return the favor, then?” He asked.

“You may need a mop to get me out of here if you do.” She said, giving him half a smirk belied by the smoulder in her gaze. He swallowed hard.

“You aren’t discouraging me, da'len.” He warned her. A mop. He could think of little more delicious than a puddle of moonlight.

“Then I guess I’ll allow it.” She said, breath fluttering and shallow, which was doing extremely distracting things to her breasts, which were, gratefully, covered by her blouse. He averted his gaze, looking down as he began to work at repayment, shocked to find her thumb muscles overdeveloped and straining.

“Your thumbs!’ He blurted, startled by this detail he had never noticed previously. He began kneading them, searching for knots. “How often are they like this?”

“Oh. That’s normal. They’re always like that.” She managed, seeming slightly disoriented by his ministrations. He couldn’t help the sound of disapproval he made, and determined to relieve the affliction to her beautiful, strong hands.

Her eyes fell closed, and he watched the expressions flicker over her face, mouth falling open and brows knitting exquisitely as he worked.

However, her thumbs had not yielded. He called heat to his touch, then cool, alternating to coax her muscles into submission. They were stubborn as she was, but it did pull from her a deep moan that sent the blood from his brain and a laugh from his lips.

“Solas… I…” She pleaded. Oh if only he could bottle that sound.

“Yes, ma’da’len?” He asked, challenging her to give him more. He realized the slip too late, she was not his, and covered by increasing the pressure, lapping at her muscles with his magic.

“Mmmm…” She responded, nearly a whine. She began to weave in front of him, sloppy in her contentment as he worked on hands that had been strong for so long. That wouldn’t do, to have her fall over and spoil the moment.

“Lean your head against me. I promise not to take advantage of you.” He offered, mimicking hers from earlier. She made the smallest of whimpers, and he let his breath graze her neck as she had. Her sounds were intoxicating, pulling him further from reason. He moved to work up her forearms, admitting defeat on her thumbs, at least for now. Her skin was so soft, corded muscles like steel beneath the surface.

His fingers tripped over scars he had not noticed, pale on pale with only texture giving them form. The protective thing in him surged. His dream. His moonlight. His vhenan. Not Desire, who he could get carried away with, but his most precious mistake, whimpering and weaving before him, her heat and scent filling the space deliciously.

“I fear I should stop, or we might get carried away.” He said, attempting to reign himself back. She seemed as though attempting to speak, but all that came out was another goading whimper. Had he truly made her incapable of speech? The idea alone was intoxicating, bringing a triumphant smile to his lips. He released her hands, and she slowly pulled back, meeting his gaze with a glazed, heavy look. She swallowed, still not speaking.

“I have never seen you quite so inarticulate… I must say it’s quite endearing.” He commented, attempting not to gloat. Her throat worked for a moment, attempting function with resistance.

“Massage good, words bad.” She finally managed. She flexed her hands, unable to form a fist. “Hands no work now.”

He laughed. His heart, made inarticulate by his ministrations, by only touching her hands and forearms. He would save this moment. And he would certainly need to see Desire.

“Shall I fetch the mop then?” He asked, heart lighter than he could remember in milenia.

She made a contented sound, shivered, and collapsed onto the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Galanor- magnificent.
> 
> Also. Not lying about having skills. I worked selling backrubs for a couple years, and would usually get at least 2 marriage proposals a month.


	37. Worthy of The Title

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW AHEAD.
> 
> This chapter I think has been the one I've agonized the most over... I've literally been poring over it for days trying to figure out if I should just rewrite it. Please lmk what you think, or if I went a terrible direction.
> 
> I definitely didn't intend for it to go this way... But then Solas just kinda... veered. Sooooooo.... I hope you like it.
> 
> Elvhen translation at the end!

He found himself in a copy of exactly what he had fallen asleep to. Thenera slept soundly on his bed, curled and content. He crossed to her, watching her sleep as contentment filled him. It was much better with her close. The anchor hummed in her palm, a pull he could no longer dissociate from her.

“Vhenan.” Greeted her voice, coming from behind him and not before.

“Vhenan.” He replied to her sleeping form, brushing a strand of hair from her face and watching her expression as she scrunched and scrubbed where he had tickled her.

He rose and turned to face Desire, finding her sitting in front of the fireplace in the very same clothes Thenera currently wore, a slate blouse with the sleeves rolled up and dark green breeches.

“Come make me inarticulate.” She asked, and he crossed the space back to the fireplace. He noted the rug, which was not especially soft, and found his cloak, motioning her to stand as he lay it in the space where his physical body currently resided. 

Desire reached for him, running delicate fingers across his scalp until they settled, pulling him to her. He met her lips eagerly, hot and pliant against his. His hands found the waistband of her breeches and pulled her against him, bowing her, so small against his frame, and she whimpered her need, pulling all chance of rational thought from his mind. His hands worked to pull her blouse free, and she pulled his from him as well, fingertips brushing ever so lightly across his skin beneath the tunic as she raised the fabric up from his body. 

He hissed at the sensation, so achingly sweet, and once freed of the garment, pulled her close again, one thigh parting hers to rock against the nerves that would make her moan, and she obliged him prettily as he nipped at the tiny silver rings in one ear. His hands sunk against the burning hot skin of her back, her whole body aflame with the desire she craved.

“Emmaera, ma galeathe lea’vune, ar lasmah naralis din’aven, sasha irlahna ina” He crooned against her neck, pulling a shiver from her and leaving her to clutch him for balance, digging her nails into his skin. He put his hands on her hips, steadying her, and pulled away, and she whimpered, dragging a feral, possessive smile to his face.

He ran his fingers along her breast band, finding the edge and unwinding it slowly, brushing against her skin deliberately and gently to make her shiver. When her breasts were bare before him, he called cold into his touch and brushed against her nipples. She let out a shocked sound, and he called heat to replace it, cupping gently before he pinched, making her breath catch. 

He knelt before her, unlacing her breeches and tugging them down with her smalls, and she steadied herself by placing her hands on his shoulders. He placed a single kiss across her pubis, and she shivered and moaned into him.

He stood and guided her in front of the fire. Her skin glowed in the light, and he sat her just as they had been sitting before, when he had stopped for fear of being unable to. He reached out for her hands again.

“Have you any idea what a remarkable creature you are?” He asked her. She held his gaze, giving him a laguidly wicked smile. 

“Why don’t you tell me, Sweet Wolf?” She asked. He began working on her hands again, and her eyes drifted shut, replaying all her tiny expressions that had left him so undone. He watched, easing muscles that did not exist, trying to determine what he truly wanted to say.

“You are a study in contrasts, vhenan. Delicate yet strong, kind yet wicked, thoughtful yet brash. I thought this world a loss, enough that I killed one of my own for believing the elves of this time people, and now, you appear, unexpected as the first crocus through barren snow. Unexpected at every turn. Bound to me and I to you, my Herald to a reluctant god, and your people’s villain. I never thought to find you a person, and now I find myself wishful that you might see me worthy of the title, instead of a monster.”

“You are not a monster, Vhenan.” Desire said in her voice, possibly his greatest fantasy yet. She brought her free hand to cup his face, languid thoughtfulness in her gaze. “I have surprised you so many times, please let me surprise you with this, too.” 

He nodded, voice run dry, and she leaned forward to kiss him, gently, softly. He wound his arms around her and crawled forward until he was pressed against her on the floor, need rising desperately, and she gasped against him.

“Vhenan, Fen’Harel, ar lath ma.” Desire said, something he would never hear from her lips. He covered hers with his, cradling her beneath him and tangling his fingers in her hair. She arched into him, and he surged in response, removing his remaining clothing with a gesture of will as his hand moved to the small of her back. 

Her skin burned as she parted her legs beneath him, and he grasped himself to slide inside her, pulling a deep moan from her throat as she threw her head back, silver hair spilling out across his dark cloak. 

He set a slow, careful pace, watching the expressions flicker across her face, brows furrowing as her mouth fell open, small moans reverberating around the room. He whispered things he could only dimly remember as the pressure around him built and built, urging him harder and faster until she broke around him with a cry. 

He stilled himself, trying not to fall over the brink with her, bringing his hand to cup her face as she regained enough control to look in his eyes. 

The expression was wrong, all wrong. There was no spark of fire, no wicked playfulness. She snapped her eyes shut, reading his reaction.

“Take me hard, vhenan, let me feel you spend inside me.” She begged, pulling him away from the wrongness. 

Not her. Not his dream, his moonlight, his vhenan. Which was exactly what he wanted when this started. He picked up his place, driving, trying to lose himself in this imitation that would keep his true heart from suffering further at his hands. 

Desire cried out in her voice, begging in ragged whimpers as she neared the precipice again, and he pushed, pushing the thoughts away with each stroke. She fell with a shuddering cry, and he fell with her over the edge and wished for more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emmaera, ma galeathe lea’vune, ar lasmah naralis din’aven, sasha irlahna ina - My dream, my perfect moonlight, I will grant you such pleasure your words will die and only cries will live.
> 
> A million thanks to FenXShiral!!!
> 
> And now that you're here... I'm sorry. I wanted to just write a nice happy smut scene that was all kinds of hot, and then Solas just wanted to talk about his fricken feelings. So.... Ir abelas. 
> 
> Please, please tell me what you think!


	38. The Breach

“Focus past the Herald! Let her will draw from you!” He called out to the mages, filled with determination. Thenera stood, proud and regal beneath the weight of the breach. She met his gaze and he nodded at her. She returned it as the anchor surged, making her stumble forward, grace forgotten in the pain that split her open from the anchor, though her face gave no clue on features schooled to steel. 

He could feel it. A tiny thread pulling on a gaping hole. The air shimmered visibly with rift magic, his veil warping and distorting his dream, pulling her apart instead of the other way around. As the worry welled, he felt the other energies begin to reinforce hers, winding around her thread and amplifying it, weaving together into something vast and ancient feeling in its power. He savored the sensation as it rippled through the air around him, and he could almost feel like he was home, weaving the fortifications on Terasyl’an Tel’as.

The Breach had no chance, and it pulled shut with a bursting echo, knocking across them all and sending every person at the temple sprawling.

He looked to Thenera, and she caught his gaze as the disorientation cleared, smiling triumphantly, before she turned it to the glimmering scar in the sky. She had done it. The breach was repaired, and she stood unbowed under the weight of it all. 

Cassandra approached her, putting her hand on his Vhenan’s shoulder, and she laughed into the sky as cheers rose around her.

She truly was magnificent.

They rode back, with the company in good cheer, but every step closer to Haven brought darkness to Thenera’s gaze, until they reached just across the bridge, and her jaw had clenched tight. He pulled his horse alongside her.

“Lethallan?” He asked, keeping his face impassive to mask their conversation from their company.

“It’s tonight.” She said through gritted teeth. His stomach fell as he put together the implications. Tonight. Tonight that they had spent two whole days making elfroot potions for, tonight that she would see his orb and be unable to retrieve it. Tonight that she would be leaving Haven underground and freezing. And she was the symbol of their victory.

“They will need you for the celebration when we return. I will make sure as much as possible is ready. Is there anything else I may do?” He asked, hoping she might tell him more about what exactly was coming.

“Promise me you’ll run when I tell you.” She said, polite expression on her face but pleading in her tone, and utterly unhelpful.

“I did mean something more practical.” He told her dryly.

“I know. There’s only one more thing to do in order to prepare, and it has to be Cullen. Please, promise me.” The pleading in her tone increased, and another puzzle piece offered. Cullen, which meant forces. Forces and the creature he had allowed his orb to be retrieved by. Was it the demon army she had spoken of seeing in the dark future? And she would ask him to run, as if he was some fragile mortal. 

Except… He was right now. Still weak, still little stronger than his allies, and Corypheus, far too strong against them. Against her. Could he trust her dreams to keep her safe?

“And if I do not?” He asked, expression even.

“I can’t guarantee you’ll live through the night. But I will. I will beg you in any way you like if you will just promise me this now. We still need you, desperately. I will meet you.” She said, a ragged edge to her tone while her back stayed perfectly upright, chin held high. Any other moment, and he would be drawn like a moth to flame for her offer to beg. But now, she seemed desperate. 

“Very well. I promise. At the end of the wolves trail?” He gave her, and she nodded, tight expression on her face that matched his own. 

They returned to Haven, and he headed away as drinks were thrust in Thenera’s hands, and she laughed and joked as she made a beeline for the Commander’s tent. The air rang with music and laughter, so at odds with what Thenera thought was coming.

“Solas, have we truly sealed the Breach?” Cassandra stopped him.

“The skies are scarred, but calm and stable. It seems our Herald has succeeded.” He offered the Seeker. She raised her head to the sky, and murmured a prayer.

“Thank you Solas. And thank the Maker for sending her to us.” She closed her eyes in reverence, and he slipped away.

He made his way past the tavern, few attempting to stop the humble elven apostate, and retrieved his pack before making his way to the Chantry. He avoided Lady Vivienne’s usual workplace he passed, though it was empty currently, and headed into the cells where he had watched Thenera, that very first time. 

Packs were arranged, and pallets of potions easily accessible. There were tents and blankets and stores of rations, bandages and various other medical supplies for the non magical variety of medicine, which seemed as crude and barbaric as many of the other nonmagical alternatives in this world.

Everything was ready, to the best of his ability without the knowledge Thenera carried. 

He left after checking one more time, and went to find his heart. 

The tenor in the air had changed, music stopped and tension creeping in as he opened the Chantry doors. The war horn cried out. He picked up his pace, and found Thenera with Cassandra, as the others gathered around at the obvious signs of trouble.

“Bull, Varric, Solas, Dorian, you’re with me.” Lavellen said, deadly certain with no room for questioning. 

“Just like old times! Or, future times. Terrible ones.” Dorian chimed in, grim sarcasm laced through his tone.

“Yep. Just like. No time travel this time. Probably.” She responded.

“So. Celebratory drinks are on hold.” Bull commented.

“I knew it was too easy.” Varric grumbled, and Thenera shot him a humorless smile with wide, crazed eyes.

“Sera, Blackwall, go help Cassandra. Convince everyone to hunker down in the Chantry. Be persuasive. Vivienne, go to the Chantry and keep everyone calm. There’s blankets and rations and tons of potions. Be judicious and keep riots from occurring. Do not let people return to their homes no matter what.” She commanded, every inch the leader in these desperate moments. Each nodded in agreement and headed to their task.

She took off to the gates, jerking her head for them to follow. The Seeker, Commander, and Ambassador were all there, discussing the force that was making its way towards them through the valley, flying no banners and far too large for this small mountain town.

The gates rattled, too soon for any to have reached them, and a small voice cried out. A smile flooded Thenera’s face, a look he knew well by now. She knew the voice.

“I can’t come in unless you open!” A young man cried.

She flew toward the gate and one of the scouts opened it for her. The commander followed her, sword drawn and ready, and Solas followed. A hulking figure in armor stood before them, and his brows knit at Thenera’s nonchalance, she hadn’t yet drawn her bow. The figure wavered and collapsed as a young man in a very strange hat withdrew daggers from the armored man’s back.

“I’m Cole. I came to warn you, to help. People are coming to hurt you.” The young man said, looking at Thenera with haunted eyes before looking away, and something in Solas pulled. “You already know. The Templars come to kill you.”

Yes. Odd indeed to point out that she already knew. Who was this?

“Is this the order’s response? I thought they would be better than this!” The commander cried, breaking Solas’ reverie.

“The red templars went to the Elder One. You know him. He knows you. You took his mages. There.” The young man’s voice was rough with pain and suffering as he pointed to a crest. Two figures came into view, one a normal mortal, and the other must have been Corypheus, a twisted, hulking thing that glowed with red lyrium. Cullen swore.

“He’s very angry you took his mages.” Cole offered, misery laced in his voice.

Cullen shot Thenera a look, and began shouting instructions. They would protect the trebuchets until the majority of the forces were in the valley, and then send an avalanche down on them. There was no way to defeat so many in this indefensible Haven.

“Solas! Barriers are first priority. Mind blast for anyone getting too close or if clusters form! Dorian! Barriers and Wall of Fire, funnel them to the left side! Bull! Smash like only you can! Varric, we have high ground right here, we’ll just need to be mind our barriers! If we can regroup as each barrier falls we can be more efficient, and not strain our mages so much.” Thenera instructed as Cullen moved to address his troops. “Dorian and I saw these fuckers in Redcliffe! They’re tainted by red lyrium, and some of them are growing it from their bodies. They’re gonna hit like you wouldn’t believe, and take a beating. But we can and will do this. Are you ready???”

Her voice rang, strong and clear, and they took their positions. Solas took first barrier as the the first stragglers came into sight, ranks broken and flagging. 

Their party minus Bull formed a line on the incline of the left path, and Dorian created a wall of fire to funnel the Templars directly to them. 

The Iron Bull grinned in glee at the mayhem, swinging his massive hammer through the air and denting or crushing armor with each swing. Thenera and Varric shot into the fragile joints, incapacitating or at least slowing each new enemy that showed their face. 

Dorian sent fireballs through the air, distracting more than they actually harmed against Templars.

“Hey Dorian! Anyone ever tell you you’re HOT?” Thenera grinned, yelling as she drew her bowstring back.

“Oh yes! Quite regularly darling!” He cried back, returning her grin.

Solas held back an eyeroll, but she had broken the tension of the moment, and he couldn’t help but admire it. 

Dorian took the next round of barriers as Bull fell back to their group, then surged forward again.

Thenera concentrated on other archers, quiet and deadly among the chaos and noise that lent them cover, and he followed her lead, lightning arcing from his staff to illuminate them clearer. 

They fought off several waves before they heard Cullen’s signal, and the trebuchet on the mountain was released, burying the bulk of the Templar's forces.

He turned to Thenera, expecting a victorious grin, but it only flashed before a grim anticipation replaced it. 

A dragon roared.


	39. Haven's Fall

Half of Haven was on fire, and every advantage gained from the avalanche would be soon lost. They had retreated to the Chantry, and Thenera had wasted no time instructing the wounded to find Vivienne and Mother Giselle for elfroot and whatever healing was possible. She stood by the front doors, thrumming with actions not yet taken.

The boy in the strange hat that Thenera had clearly known sat on the floor, holding the member of the Chantry who had denounced them so many times. He was bleeding freely, and a cursory look with his magic told him the man wouldn’t make it through the night.

“He tried to stop a Templar. The blade went deep. He’s going to die.” The boy said. Solas reached out to him, to see if perhaps he was a mage, but he was not. His energy was strange, far more connected to the Fade and less to this world, and it seemed, like Thenera, he saw too much.

“What a charming boy.” Roderick said, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

“Herald. Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.” Cullen said urgently. She looked at him and nodded, expression searching, waiting.

“I’ve seen an archdemon. I was in the Fade, but it looked like that.” Cole offered, eyes wide. In the Fade? Was he a mage then, and perhaps a different kind, or… 

“I don’t care what it looks like!” Cullen cried, frustration welling as he saw their meager advantage crumble. “Its cut a path for that army. They’ll kill everyone in Haven.”

“The Elder one doesn’t care about the village. He only wants the Herald.” The boy said, haunted eyes wide as he looked past her.

“I know. I’m going.” Thenera said, reassuring as she glanced between the boy and the Commander. Going? Outside? Where an archdemon and Corypheus waited for her?

“Herald. There are no tactics to make this survivable.” Cullen’s voice was heavy, but he would not stop her from sacrificing herself. Irrational anger welled toward the young Commander for seeing her as a necessary sacrifice in a game of chess. Irrational, because he had seen her as such for so long. 

“Thenera, you cannot!” He told her, eyes flashing and urgency in his voice. She waved him off with a look. She had made him promise, told him to abandon her.

“The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. I suppose your intuition was right. It is time for worst case scenario. It seems my prayers were wasted. We’ll die, but at least we can choose how. Many never get that choice.” The commander said, offering new information. What had she done? Had she planned another avalanche? One that would kill them all, one that would blanket Haven, and leave her escaping underground. The pieces clicked together. But then why had she stocked this place, if there was no escape? Why had she promised he would live if only he abandoned her?

“Yes, that. Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies.” Cole offered, pulling thoughts from the Chancellor’s mind, something beyond the skills of mages, something that dwelled solely in the purview of spirits.

“There is a path. You wouldn’t know it unless you’d made the summer pilgrimage, as I have. The people can escape. She must have shown me. Andraste must have shown me so I could tell you.” Roderick said, wheezing. A spark of hope caught in the room, and the young man who might be a spirit smiled.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make him fight for it.” Thenera grinned at the boy and the Chancellor, confident despite every odd against her. Perhaps she truly would make it through this. At the end of the wolves trail. He would guide her. The Dread Wolf would guide her, and guide her true.

“But when the mountain falls… What about you?” Cullen asked, surety gone from his gaze. Thenera caught it and shrugged.

“I’ve made it through worse odds. I may survive this.” She said, and looked at Solas for a moment, just a moment. Another reassuring look that would be unreadable to anyone but him. 

“Yes. Perhaps you’ll find a way.” Cullen mused, and rallied himself to leave her behind. “Inquisition, follow Chancellor Roderick through the Chantry, move!”

“Herald, if you are meant for this, if the Inquisition is meant for this, I pray for you.” Roderick said. She nodded, the most respectful gesture she had seen her give the man. She knew then, that he was to die.

“Keep the Elder One’s attention until we hit the treeline. If we are to have a chance, if you are to have a chance, let that thing hear you.” Cullen directed, and her face lit in a crazed smile.

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” She answered, sardonic. The commander nodded, a solemn farewell to someone he never thought to see again, and left to mobilize his people. Thenera turned towards their group, those who had fought with her through the first avalanche, plus Sera.

“Go. Go with the refugees. They’re going to need you. The trebuchet is ready and loaded. I’m going to make some green sparkly shit to get their attention, then slip away, and rinse and repeat until you guys are safe.” She said seriously, unwilling to sacrifice others

“Shit Glowy.” Varric said, wringing his hands with a heavy look. Thenera pulled him into a hug, and Sera and Bull joined.

“It’s been good, Boss.” The Qunari told her, tone rumbling.

“Thanks for fixin’ the sky, your Gracious Ladybits.” Sera said, a sniff in her voice that belied her words.

“And right after I find such a good friend they just have to go and sacrifice themselves nobly. Of course that’s my luck.” The Tevinter man said, attempting to keep his voice light. It cracked, and Thenera threw her arms around him.

“Don’t count me out just yet.” She said, voice thick but trying to tease.

Finally, she turned to Solas. She drew herself up, proud and regal, trying to prove that he should keep his promise, prove that she would make it through this despite every odd against her.

“I promise. You promise?” She asked, waver in her commanding tone. He nodded, unsure he could speak without saying too much. “Good. They need you. Go find Cole. You two will get along great. He’ll show you how to help best.”

He looked at her, this tiny creature who could undo would be gods. Fire burned in her eyes, even as she looked into his and let him see her softness. He stepped forward and hesitated. There was so much to say and not enough time. Never enough time. And now, surrounded by others, there was only so much he could say. He closed the distance in a rush, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her hair. She smelled of blood and fire and violets.

“I expect you to keep your promise, lethallan. I would be furious to find you learned to lie now, of all times.” He murmured rapidly against her, too low for anyone to hear. He pulled back as quickly as he had rushed forwards, and settled the space back between them. All he could do was trust her. A truly terrifying thought.

“Of course now Chuckles decides it’s ok to show his feelings.” Varric grumbled.

They made their way to the basement, and it seemed Leliana and her scouts were heading the group through the passageway, and each of the townspeople grabbed supplies as they made their way through the tunnels and out. Mother Giselle stayed with the wounded, though there were few who still needed to be on stretchers, there were enough uninjured to carry them with ease. Cullen and their small group took up the rear, each picking up a pack and an armload on their way. 

The tunnels wound their way North a short ways before letting out onto the mountainside, and they followed the path made for them, up and up through the falling snow and freezing wind. Even with his natural resistances against the elements, it became a struggle. 

The snow grew deeper, he hadn’t realized just how heavy and thick it lay across the mountains, and Cullen fully explained the plan to their group as they walked. Varric glanced back, looking stricken as he realized the full implications of what she had done, and Dorian huffed indignantly. The others set their faces in grim lines, save Sera, who seemed angry.

“So what? Our Herald goes an’ just sacrifices herself for all of us an’ not a one of us tried to stop her? You knew what she was doin!” She turned to Cullen, and then Solas. “An’ YOU! She’s all ‘Elven Glory’ for you an’ you just let her die instead of goin' with her?”

“Would that have been better? She told me to leave so my skills as a healer could be put to use.” He asked quietly.

“Yes. No. I don't know! She shouldn’t’ave been left alone, and now she’s gonna die for us like fricken Andraste!” She stomped through the snow, fear turning to anger. 

“She has surprised us many times Sera. We may see her again. I have faith.” He said. He realized the truth of the words as he said them. He had faith in her. If anyone could live through this, it was her.

As he spoke, they cleared the area where the avalanche was likely to extend, and Cullen released a flare into the sky.


	40. The Herald Returns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a new art! It goes with Chapter 22 and I hoped to get it done by then buttttttttt that didn't happen. So here! Enjoy something steamy when you're cold from all this talk of snow.
> 
>  
> 
> <https://dirthenera.tumblr.com/post/183749893986/i-like-to-think-that-when-you-get-really-into>  
> 

They made their way to a valley and began setting up the tents and bedrolls and makeshift infirmary. He needed to keep himself busy for the next few hours until he could reasonably expect Thenera’s return. He found Cole.

“She told me to find you, she said you would know how best to help these people.”

“Yes. Hurts, I can hear them hurting. Fear and sadness choke the air, helpless, hating, hurt… She sees too much. You hurt and you don’t. Is a pain real if it hasn’t happened yet? But it will. How strange. You make her hurt better and worse. I don’t understand.” Cole said to him, hat bobbing up to peer into his eyes. A jolt hit him in the gut.

“No! Not like that. I’m sorry, I did it wrong. You make her happy. She wants and sees and doesn’t know if you care. You should tell her. The word rings in her mind like yours.”

“Cole… What are you?”

“I used to think I was a ghost. But now I know I’m not. Not real, but here I can help. Here is where things can change.”

“You are a spirit?”

“Spirit or demon?”

“The two are not so dissimilar. And you wish to help.”

“Yes. Helping. That man there, his leg is broken. He screams inside, words dried and gone.”

“Thank you Cole. I will assist.”

He threw himself into tending the wounded. There were enough that he saved his magic for the more serious wounds, a gut wound here, pierced lungs there. Enough to keep them alive but not enough to fully spend his mana before moving to the next.

There were fewer than forty wounded, all told. He saw to those he could, and saved a store of magic in case Thenera needed it, allowing Mother Giselle, Adan, Cole, and a few of Fiona’s mages to look after the rest. More had been injured in the dash up the mountain since the battle. Some had been lost in the flight, and there had been casualties that had never made it to the Chantry, but considering the scope of destruction that had rained on them, it was nearly miraculous. They still had potions available, and began rationing them based on need. After what felt like hours, the spirit appeared next to him again.

“She needs the wolves. You can help.” Cole said to him, fixing him with eyes too wide. “I will tell them you’re out of mana. We can help these. She needs you.”

Solas nodded to the spirit, and picked his way through camp and away, back towards Haven. The dark made it even easier to pass unnoticed. He was unsure he had the power left to shed his skin, and so he listened, hearing a pack nearby.

He raised his voice to meet theirs, a cry to lead, and their howls mingled. Hours had passed, and she should be making her way out of the tunnel soon into the blizzard. Unless something went wrong. Or she had failed to keep her promise, and lay broken beneath a blanket of snow.

She could not. But as time wore on, worry crept deeper, and the howls grew more desperate. She should have made it by now. The valley was well lit and there had been trail markers left. She should have made it, but the anchor was still outside the sphere of his senses.

If anyone could find her, it would be him. He knew where the tunnel let out, and was better equipped than most to traverse the heavy snows. He readied himself to leave, and Cole appeared, materializing next to him.

“She is back.” He said, and voices began shouting in the distance.

They made their way back to find Cullen returning to camp with a small bundle cradled in his arms, covered in snow.

“Medic! The Herald has returned!” He cried out, heading to one of the makeshift tents and settling her carefully on a cot. Whispers spread out in his wake, of miracles and divinity.

Solas strode forward, trying not to let his gait turn to a run.

“I will assist.” He said as he approached, not waiting for confirmation as he settled beside her and reached out with his mana. Vhenan. _The word rings in her mind like yours_ , the spirit had said. She was white beneath the cloak, not merely pale but nearly blue, strands of hair frozen and standing at strange angles beneath her hood.

Cold. That was the biggest problem. He cast a heat rune beneath her, and continued his examination. There was overall exhaustion, minor cuts and scrapes and muscles pushed past their limits. There was trauma to her shoulder, bruising that went entirely through the joint. And… The anchor. Something had changed. The energy in it was meager, nearly spent, a mere spark of what it had been. What had Corypheus done?

He healed the shoulder and tipped a potion to her lips. Perhaps it was good he had not gone in search of her, with the pulse from the anchor so weak.

“Solas. Will she make it?” Cullen interrupted his examination.

“Yes, she will.” Solas answered. “The cold very nearly got the better of her, and it seems her shoulder was dislocated and reset, but she will be fine.”

“Thank the Maker.” He said fervently, lingering with a complex expression before he left to spread the news.

Solas reached back out to the anchor. There had been trauma there, the wound was deeper, more of her eaten away to make space for it. The edges were raw and jagged, like someone had taken hold of it and tried to wrench it free. It had been altered, ever so slightly, and more of its power had been unlocked.

The snow began to melt and drip from her cloak, and he stripped it from her and swathed her in a dry blanket instead. Not only would she hate waking to wet clothing, it could exacerbate any number of illnesses.

Color began to return to her face, and her frozen strands of hair melted and dried in the heat of his magic. He soothed the wound around the anchor as much as possible, but it was made from his undiluted power, and he didn’t have enough to fix it in his weakened state.

The anchor may very well kill her.


	41. Faith and Pride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the only chapter today! Been on a painting kick, and kinda jumped ahead and wrote something that wouldn't leave my brain alone, but it'll be a few chapters before I can connect it to the main story.

He sat with her as she slept, and dozed. She should at least have a few years, maybe ten without further trauma to the anchor. And he would be able to restore his power in that time and safely remove it. He would save her from this, at least.

It was nearing dawn as she awoke, to the persistent arguing of a group whose clear leader could not currently lead. As her eyes opened, they settled on Solas, and she sat bolt upright with a shocked look.

“Solas! Why are you? The injured!” She paused as the sleep cleared from her face. “Wait. How am I warm again?”

“Magic, obviously.” He responded, a wry smile and relief writ on his face. “You did well, lethallan. There were few injuries, and ample supplies. The wounded have been tended to as best possible, and casualties were lower than anyone would have anticipated. You, however, were nearly at risk of not keeping your promise.”

He chided, but his final sentence had no effect. A smile full of relief washed over her face and she threw her arms around him, murmuring to herself. Her relief and his wound together, nearly palpable, and he held her close and breathed in her scent, faint after the snow.

“It’s ok. We made it through. And most of Haven did too. We made it.” She said as a mantra.

“I believe it is you who made this possible. Though we are still stranded in a remote valley, in the wilderness, in a fair amount of snow.” He responded, realizing just how he could help her, and help the Inquisition.

“Minor details.” Thenera grinned, finally managing to pull herself back to look in his eyes. Her gaze shifted as Mother Giselle approached, and Solas pulled away from the tent to allow them their conversation. 

They spoke for several minutes before Thenera extricated herself from the blankets he had swaddled her in and made her way to the advisors, seeming to attempt escape from the Chantry mother and the faith that clung to her now like a heavy perfume. 

A song, a part of the Chant of Light, sprung up around her, voices blending together and shaping this moment, cementing the faith they carried for Lavellen, for his magnificent dream who had somehow managed to return from certain death. 

Pride in her welled as the song faded. Yes, he would continue his aid. He would give her what mortals had made of his keep. He would give her Skyhold.

He approached, and she turned as though pulled, though he hadn’t made a sound. 

“A word.” He said, walking past and counting on her to follow, which she did. He led away from the camp, away from prying eyes. It was time to tell her more, and see if she was surprised. He led her to a brazier, and lit it with the memory of fire in the night, unable to suppress a smile born of pride at her victory. 

She stood back, with a strange expression on her face, drinking in the sight as though it was treasured.

“Lethallan?” He quirked a brow at her.

“Give me a moment to savor, lethallin.” She said, her voice rich and amused. She took in a deep breath and gazed at him, eyes burning as they meandered slowly over his body in a way that made him heat in the freezing predawn air.

“Enjoying the view, Thenera?” He asked, amused.

“Oh yes. Very much. I don’t know if anyone’s told you, but you’re beautiful when you aren’t pretending to be humble.” She smiled, amused and wicked. Ah. So she had known the humble act was just that. He had not realized he had stopped. And she found him beautiful. In fact, she was looking at him as though this was a favorite scene in a book, something to return to over and over. Finally, she made her way to stand across from him at the torch, blue light reflecting off her silver hair beautifully. 

“I take it you’ve seen this then?” He asked, unable to keep the mirth from his voice as he tilted his head.

“Nowhere near enough times. And the clarity of seeing this, not in a dream? Ma serannas for the moment.” She smiled again, something that might appear shy if he didn’t know her.

“Do you know what I’m about to say then?” He asked. 

“Umm… Better say it, just to make sure.” She quirked a brow at him in an expression he had found maddening for so long.

“You are incorrigible. I thought your dreams ceased yielding consistent results after sealing the breach?” He asked her, not quite resigning himself to her mystery.

“There are still moments. This is one of the better ones.” She answered.

“I see. Will there be a day you stop being a mystery?” He asked, not truly expecting an answer.

“Probably. But don’t think that means I’ll stop surprising you.” She said. Would there truly?

“Now that would be truly surprising.” He met her gaze, attempting to turn the conversation back to its original purpose. “The humans have not raised one of our people so high in ages beyond counting. Their faith is hard won, lethallan, but worthy of pride, save for one detail; the threat Corypheus wields, the orb he carried, it is ours. Corypheus used the orb to open the breach, unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the conclave. We must find out how he survived, and we must prepare for the reaction when they learn the orb is of our people.”

“You said our.” She grinned, pointing out something he had not realized he had done, when he had said their every other time. She was quite observant. “And yes, humans just love to blame elves for everything. Is this what you were hiding when we spoke in the Fallow Mire?” 

“Indeed, I feared telling you this too soon, as I suspect you have done to me many times.” He answered, raising a brow in challenge.

“Maybe. What else can you tell me about the orb?” She asked.

“You don’t know?” He asked, ready to press again.

“I only know what you’ve told me, Solas.” She answered with a shrug, as she had told him previously.

“Very well. Such things were foci, said to channel power from our gods. Some were dedicated to specific members of our pantheon. All that remains are references in ruins, with faint visions of memory in The Fade, echoes of a dead empire. But however Corypheus came to it, the orb is Elvhen, and with it, he threatens the heart of human faith.”

“Gotta love how we just keep getting screwed, huh? Even if we win against Coryphytits, they very well might blame us, use it as an excuse to burn alienages and hunt clans. Not that they need much of a reason now, what with disgusting mess of Halamshiral.”

He suppressed a laugh at the name, inclining his head in acknowledgement instead.

“I suspect you are correct. It is unfortunate, but we must be above suspicion to be seen as valued allies. Faith in you is shaping this moment, but needs room to grow. By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it, changed you.” Her eyes drifted shut as she listened, awed and hanging on each word. “Scout to the North, be their guide. There is a place that waits for a force to hold it. There is a place where the Inquisition can build, grow.”

“Skyhold.” He said, and she mouthed the word as he said it.


	42. Guiding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late! I did almost zero writing today and spent the day finishing a couple paintings and doing some sketching. Gonna post links to some stuff at the end!

It was slow traveling with so many, and with the wounded. She led diligently, the inner circle and a few of Leliana’s scouts traveling ahead, with the hopes they might establish an infirmary by the time the remainder of camp arrived. Each night, Thenera and he walked away from the group to steal a few minutes of privacy before returning to a crowded camp with little space. He pointed her in the right direction, course correcting each evening and she patiently listened and asked questions, and he sketched landmarks for her as best he could remember them from memory, walking the Fade in the area through the nights to help guide his vhenan better.

Desire had been absent, but he would have to face Wisdom soon, and speak of everything that had changed. But not yet. He would have time for dreams that were less rushed soon, once they arrived.

“Oh! I wanted to tell you about Cole!” Thenera said one evening as they meandered from camp.  
They kept careful distance, despite the ribbing which had made it obvious that none of their party thought their relationship innocent. He allowed it. It was easier to let them make assumptions than to correct them and speak of the secrets they shared. Despite the heat that hung in the air around them, Thenera never pushed further than a comment or a glance, which he both wished she would and was grateful she did not.

“Oh? He is a spirit, is he not?” Solas answered.

“Yes. He’s a spirit of Compassion.” She smiled, a genuine, bright and unburdened smile.

“Compassion? He is quite rare indeed in that case.”

“Yes. He is the best of us. His entire purpose is to help, and he will.” She said, happiness lighting her like a beacon.

“And the others will accept him?” He asked warily, wondering if she knew.

“Mostly. You and Varric will be closest. Most of the others he’ll win over, except for Vivienne and Sera.” She offered openly. How much did she yet know? Did she see their path to Corypheus?

“Unfortunately, it surprises me more that they are the only ones who will hold to prejudices than that they are the only ones that harbor them.” He answered, and she made a disapproving noise.

“Has anyone ever told you that maybe, just maybe, you see the worst in people?” She asked, quirking a brow in challenge.

“I suppose such a comment would not be unheard of.” He conceded.

“Do you ever wonder what you miss?”

“Only recently, Lethallan.”

She smiled, one of her impossible smiles, and pulled her sketchbook from the folds of her cloak.

“Here. I realized it… ah… Isn’t exactly fair that I’ve seen some of your work and you haven’t seen mine. I like portraits, and my style is too sketchy, I’m not great at clean lines.”

He took the book from her hands and flipped through. There were pages of notes and abandoned doodles between drawings of various outfits and portraits. As she had said, they were a sketchy, hesitating style, but none failed to capture the subject. His breath caught as he noted the expressions on each of their companions faces, brighter and more hopeful than they seemed to him in life. And then he found one of him. Looking kinder by far than he deserved. His fingers hovered over the page, careful not to smudge the charcoal. _The word rings in her mind like yours_.

“These are beautiful, Thenera.”

“Thank you.”

He continued looking through, finding several pages of formal uniform designs, and a self portrait she seemed to have spent more time on than most. It was the only one less hopeful, less kind looking, and more complicated, with pain behind the strokes.

“I did that one recently. On the trip back from Redcliffe.” She said quietly, smile turned hesitant and contemplative.

“I am sorry that you were the one to bear the consequences. I wish I had been able to.” He closed her sketchbook, this small piece of herself she had just bared to him, and returned it to her. It disappeared back into the folds of her cloak.

“You did. Just… A different you. A you I couldn’t reach out and touch to reassure.” She swallowed and placed a hand on his elbow. “And now… That you only lives in my memory, and Dorian’s.”

“Would it have been better if I hadn’t joined you? If it hadn’t been me in those cells?”

“Ir abelas banal, Solas. I won’t live my life wishing I could change things that are done, that way lies madness.”

He gave her a grim smile, and they returned to camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the sketches I've done of the companions/advisors!
> 
>  
> 
> <https://dirthenera.tumblr.com/post/183813753361/ive-been-sketching-a-bunch-lately-and-thought-id>  
> 
> 
> Thenera's post Redcliffe self portrait.
> 
>   
>  <https://dirthenera.tumblr.com/post/183814256821/self-indulgentness-thenera-is-usually-smiling-or>   
> 
> 
> Thenera in her silk dress!
> 
>   
>  <https://dirthenera.tumblr.com/post/183813904546/honestly-one-of-the-things-i-just-cant-suspend>   
> 
> 
> More Solas
> 
>   
>  <https://dirthenera.tumblr.com/post/183813117931/yes-hair-or-no-hair-either-way-enjoy-some-egg>   
> 
> 
> Aaaaaand finally the first piece I did of Solas and Thenera that's all cute and fluffy.
> 
>   
>  <https://dirthenera.tumblr.com/post/183814382541/solas-and-my-lavellen-thenera-reblogging-to-find>   
> 


	43. Terasyl'an Tel'as

Terasyl’an Tel’as had changed since last he visited. The old Ferelden keep that had been built over his had fallen into ruins, though the structure remained serviceable and stalwart. It was not the same place he had once called home, but the energy that filled the air was familiar. 

Thenera embraced it with a clear familiarity, though she occasionally seemed confused by areas that were not yet repaired. Cole’s words still echoed in his mind, but there was far too much to do as they cleared the courtyard for the wounded before they arrived, and after, there was endless delegating. 

He managed to claim the ground floor of the rotunda for himself, and the Ambassador promised him quarters nearby when they became available. It seemed an ideal spot, as Thenera passed through several times a day, and yet, there were others all around to keep him from acting recklessly. 

The walls seemed the only place suitable for his murals, out of sight of visiting dignitaries but not easy to miss for those who lived and worked in the keep. He had ideas of dedicating this space to her, to the Inquisition, and their deeds. 

The idea was cemented the day they raised her up and granted her the title of Inquisitor. Inquisitor Lavellen, Herald of Andraste in story and Fen’Harel in truth, and utterly magnificent as she raised the great sword to deafening cheers, speaking of equality for the elves. 

How naive she was, to think it could be so simple. And yet… If any one person could manage it in this world, it would be her. His Vhenan who would see the best in others despite everything. 

She asked him to help plan reconstruction, and he worked with carpenters and builders as they arrived from Jader and Redcliffe. This may not be his keep, as it once was, but the forms were familiar enough, and he had periodically looked in on the place his fortress had once been through the ages. He had always planned to return here to remove the veil, once he had realized it would become necessary.

“How are you liking the space, Solas? Is it like what your dreams showed you?” Thenera asked, voice low as they worked in the main hall one day, flashing her bright eyes at him under smudges of grime, silver hair bound in a braid that showed the long lines of her neck and the delicate shapes of her ears, tiny silver rings glinting along them. He wanted to reach out and wipe the grime from her, pull the ashen streaks from her moonlight skin, feel her soft beneath his hands. Ironic.

“I could very well ask you the same question.” He returned pointedly, trying to reorder his thoughts.

“You could, but I asked first.” She smirked.

“Very well. The space is adequate. It seems familiar to the memories The Fade holds of the place, and yet different at the same time. Do you know the Elvhen name of the structure?” He asked, offering knowledge. She flashed him another glance under her lashes and nodded.

“Terasyl’an Te’las. The place where the sky was held back.” She answered, complicated mix of emotions in her voice.

“Yes. I thought it quite auspicious given our efforts against the breach.” He told her. What else did she know of this space? Or simply this, this memory of a name fraught with meaning unknown?

“Quite poetic, falon.” Her expression returned to something lighthearted.

“And you?” He asked.

“Skyhold is incredible, and I’ll never be able to thank you enough.” She said gratefully, whisper of a smile gracing her lips that brought another returning one to his. Vhenan.

“I am happy to assist. Corypheus threatens us all.” He told her. It was true. That she made his heart sing was only a boon. 

“True enough.” She said, flashing him a lopsided smile. 

“Ah! Inquisitor! Might I speak with you a moment?” The Ambassador called out to her.

“Sure thing Josie! Be right there!” She called back, setting down the broom and dustpan and nodding to Solas as she rose.

And with that, she left to continue whatever task required of her.


	44. His Dream in His Dream

The days passed in much the same way for the first week, and Skyhold began to resemble a fortress again. He had managed to purchase some pigments through one of the pilgrims, along with ash and lime for the plaster, and his fingers began to itch for the feel of a brush in them, the walls bare and needing to be worked. But there was no time to plan, and exhaustion from cooperation with the enchanter began to wear him thin, so he lay down on the couch in the rotunda after careful memorization of the space to plan his first work in dreams.

It was odd to be in this version of Skyhold in The Fade, though his was now inaccessible. The room was quiet, much quieter than it was in fact, and he began to plan his first piece. The Conclave and the Breach was where this all started, and where he should as well. The veil being brutally pierced, drawing the gaze of the many who should never have to envy. Chaos sown and the rifts which had formed as a result.

Yes, and then the forming of the Inquisition. He would avoid painting her in particular, his vhenan. They would surely erect statues to her within her lifetime, and dock her ears after a few centuries, should he fail. Of course, if he succeeded, the statues might not survive.

He studied the walls, planning the space needed for each, the colors he could use, the motifs to say everything he wanted to say. He heard footsteps approach, which was odd.

And the thrum of the anchor, which was even stranger. Thenera entered the rotunda with a smile. Impossible.

“Thenera?” He asked, unable to keep the shock from his voice. Even if she did enter the Fade in dreams, this level of proficiency dreaming was, if not impossible, very nearly. His heart stammered. She was here, his dream in his dream, with her piercing green eyes that Desire had never captured.

“Hi. I thought I might find you here.” Her smile widened, white teeth flashing behind pink lips. Had she gone to sleep attempting to find him? Or was she unaware of her surroundings?

“You were looking for me?” He asked, perplexed.

“I wanted to see if you had some time to talk, we’ve barely had any since we got here.” She said nonchalantly, as though it was any other day. Ah. So she was unaware. She had simply wandered into his dream, somehow. She would be ecstatic and gloating if she was aware. Of all the places for her to wander in the Fade; the Fade which brought you to what you expected and wanted most, she had come here, to him.

 _The word rings in her mind like yours_ , Cole had said. _Vhenan_. He could finally show her this piece of himself, the piece that brought sadness to her smile for not being able to touch it. He could show her, and he could show her what she meant in the pathways of dreams, to say without saying, and let that be enough for his greedy heart.

“You continue to surprise me. Alright. Preferably somewhere more interesting than here.” A smile lit his face as he twisted the Fade around them.

They walked together through Haven, her memories reinforcing the details, clarifying paths he rarely walked and details he left unnoticed. This place is where they had met, where they had shared meals and conversations. Where she had become more than the host of the Anchor, where she had surprised him again and again.

“Haven…” She said, confused tone in her voice as she attempted to sift through the discrepancy between what her eyes saw and her mind knew to be truth.

“Haven is familiar. It will always be important to you.” He responded, weaving calm through the air with his words. It would not do for her to realize the truth at this moment, she would likely wake herself in shock, and there was so much he wanted to show her.

“Yes. So much happened here.” She answered, fog of confusion lifting with his voice. She had told him how she enjoyed his voice, damp and miserable in the Storm Coast as he had warred against her pull.

He led her to the place he had first seen her, walking slowly through the town and Chantry, and he could feel her presence like a beacon. Impossibly bright, shining as though she truly would fly on a griffon. Had the anchor amplified her presence so much? Had it changed her spirit? She should not be so bright, so like The People. Perhaps she was even brighter than they once had been.

He looked into the cell of the Chantry. The place he had first laid eyes on her, a tiny thing marked by his magic. He had thought her a wisp, an echo. A perversion of the People. How wrong he had been.

“I sat beside you while you slept, studying the anchor.” He looked at her, wishing he could tell her how wrong he had been about her, wishing he could tell her how much she meant to him. She gazed at him, a vacant look passing her face, still struggling to reconcile the feeling of the dream. So she had not seen this moment before, most likely.

“Ma serannas, Solas. I’m not sure I would have woken without you.” She said, words meandering as she looked around the cell and back at him, relaxing back into the moment.

“You were a mystery. You still are.” He offered her a secretive smile, so like many of her own. How long would they get here, in this dream, before someone required the Inquisitor or their expert on The Fade? “I ran every test I could imagine, searched The Fade, and found nothing. Cassandra suspected duplicity. She threatened to have me executed as an apostate if I didn’t produce results.”

“That sounds exactly like Cassandra.” She smirked, tilting her head to one side, and he couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from him.

“Yes, it does.” He turned and led her away, wanting to show her as much as possible before the inevitable end. Always, the inevitable end.

The path was a familiar one, the path between the Chantry and his small cabin where they had shared so much. Her memory of this path was even stronger than his, binding, weaving together and creating something that few could not be fooled by. At least, if it weren’t for her essence, her energy surrounding him, the memory of roses tinting the end of every breath. And she was questioning again, questioning as always, but it was too soon, much too soon to break this spell. There was still so much to say.

“You were never going to wake up. How could you? A mortal sent physically through The Fade. I was frustrated, frightened. The spirits I might have consulted had been driven away by the Breach. Although I wished to help, I had no faith in Cassandra, nor she in me. I was ready to flee.” He spoke, and his voice pulled her back, back from the edge of questioning. Something he could use in the future. A useful tool, and one he hated knowing he would need.

“Oh yea? Where? The breach was… Kinda big deal.” She waved her marked hand towards the sky. He smiled in response, encouraging her usual nonchalance.

“Someplace far away. Where I might research a way to repair the Breach before its effects reached me.” She quirked her brow at him in a challenge, and he responded with a smile and a chuckle.

“I never said it was a good plan. I told myself; one more attempt to seal the rifts.” He thrust his hand towards the maw their memories had created, vast feeling of dread filling it even here. “I tried and failed. No ordinary magic would effect them. I watched the rifts expand and grow, resigned myself to flee, and then…”

He pulled, and a flash of memory played. The moment he had grabbed her wrist in desperation and flung it towards that first rift with a spark of his magic and she had gazed at him with awe. The memory echoed, reverberating as the weight of it settled on him. Fingerprints on her soul, and hers on his. He breathed in, tasting roses and violets.

“It seems you hold the key to our salvation. You had sealed it with a gesture. And right then, I felt the whole world change.” He held her gaze. She was looking at him again, with the same look he had seen that first moment, so many emotions swirling that he hadn’t known to name. Vhenan.

“Felt the whole world change?” She asked, hopeful, words hesitant and so unlike her usual certainty. He tried to still his breathing, but every fiber of this place was soaked in her, soaked in their memories woven together.

“A figure of speech.” He said with more control than he felt. It was harder to hide in this place, hide his emotions and desires.

“Is that all?’” Her voice caught, rough, not trying to hide and not knowing she should.

“You change… Everything.” It escaped before he could deny it, one of the most honest things he had ever said to her. She took in a sharp breath, and looked at him with utter certainty, raising one long, beautiful, strong hand to his face with astonishing gentleness, and he turned to her. She leaned in, closer and closer until he was certain he could drown in her presence alone. She paused, searching his eyes, question in her gaze that he had no chance of denying. Everything was her and she could have everything.

She reached up and pressed her lips to his. Soft and cool in the mountain air, like rose petals against him, and sweeter than any moment Desire could have prepared him for. In an instant, he was on fire, ignited by a touch so profoundly gentle he could barely be certain she had touched him at all.

And then she pulled back.

His mind cautioned as his hands were already reaching out, wrapping firmly around her hips and pulling her back, back to him, pressing her lips back to his as if he meant to drown. He clutched her to him, bending her body against his, matching her form to her weapon and yielding to her grace. He was burning against her, tongue hot against hers, and every part of her a cool balm to his fever. She clutched at him, nails scraping through his tunic, on his neck, gasping into him as she met his fevered pitch.

He worked his knee between her thighs and nearly came undone at the heat pooled there, burning even through their clothing. He rocked against her and she moaned, desperate and sweeter than he could ever have thought possible, and he joined her. Her nails scrabbled for purchase against him, demanding more and more and how could he not give it to her? He pulled her closer, pressing his own need desperately against her, and her hand that had been working into his back moved to his hip, cupping his ass and pulling him tighter, harder, against her, as though there might still be space left.

It was so much more than he could have imagined with Desire.

Because this wasn’t Desire. This was Thenera, his dream, his vhenan, and he couldn’t, couldn’t be doing this. He pulled back, gasping for air and shaking his head at his own stupidity, his lack of control. But she was there, flushed, eyes wide and needing and oh so very her, and she whimpered, snapping his barest threads of self control. His traitorous arms pulled her back again, back against his lips, softer and sweeter this time as he tasted her for what he told himself must be the last time. He savored it, this fleeting moment, and pulled away.

“We shouldn’t. It isn’t right. Not even here.” He said, suffused with regret.

“Even here?” She asked thickly, dazed and dizzy and breathing hard through swollen lips. A memory he would treasure for the rest of his days. It was time to break the spell, to allow her confusion to carry her back to the waking and away from this moment where he only wanted more. She would be pleased though, and he couldn’t help the smile to see the look of surprise on his vhenan as she realized.

“Where did you think we were?” He asked mischievously.

The pieces lined up, and her eyes widened, lust cleared from her expression as surprise took its place.

“We’re…Not really in Haven. But how? This… Isn’t real?” She asked, a tentative smile growing.

“That’s a matter of debate. Probably best discussed after you… Wake up.” His smile grew, and she was suddenly gone from the memory with a ripping sensation that left him feeling bereft, pulling the clarity from this approximation of Haven. He pulled himself from the dream as well. She would undoubtedly have questions.


	45. Considerations

Barely had he risen and smoothed his clothing before he felt the anchor drawing close at a near run, and a grin escaped at her enthusiasm. She burst through the door after, apparently, entirely ignoring the Child of Stone that had taken to writing there, and fixed him with a flushed and ravenous stare that made him very glad indeed that he had chosen this place, where there was no true privacy, and he could not have her on the desk at that very moment, even if she begged. 

“Sleep well?” He asked. She had offered to beg, however he would like, the day she sealed the breach. The idea of her, willing and pliant and begging for him...

“That was… Incredible. I mean, up until the very jarring wake up. How?” She asked, breathing still heavy as she flicked her gaze over him assessingly, licking her lips with her impossibly pink tongue. He attempted to focus on her words, and not the other very distracting things happening.

“I am unsure. It seems that you are quite a proficient dreamer when you do enter The Fade, you found me readily.” He offered. It truly was remarkable, that above all other things she excelled at, to be proficient with this as well? Especially considering it had been less than two months since she had first discovered that she even could enter the Fade.

“Huh. Or maybe it was because some part of me expected it to work that way?” She asked cleverly. 

“The Fade often shapes itself around our expectations.” He agreed, appreciative smile on his face. “Though for you to walk directly into my dream requires a level of skill beyond most of the Dalish.”

“That part actually doesn't surprise me. It's harder to avoid you than find you at this point.” She responded, as though she was telling him the weather. He flushed.

“I see. That could, perhaps, make sense of it.”

“I suggest we try again and see if it works. For science.” She grinned at him, and he laughed at her cavalier response. It would be an experiment worth repeating, but there were parts that could not, the parts she so openly wanted. The same as he, to feel her against him again, taste her, feel her cool skin warm at his touch… 

“I apologize. The kiss was impulsive and ill considered, and I should not have encouraged it.” He said, drawing back, reminding himself of the cool stone around him and the ears above. They already thought there was something between their newly minted Inquisitor and him… 

“You say that, but you’re the one who started with tongue.” She said with glee, undermining his attempts at distance with every turn. He had tasted her lips, what what would other parts of her taste like? His thoughts of stone walls began to shift, how would her cries sound echoing? How would it feel to pin her against them? 

“I did no such thing.” He shot back. Except he had. And it was difficult to regret. His vhenan, gasping and clutching at him. There was no world in which he could regret such a cherished memory. What was it she said? Ir abelas banal. However true it was in this instance, he could not tell her. She would see it as an invitation for something that should never be, though they both wanted. 

“Oh? Does it not count if it’s Fade Tongue?” She pressed, a laugh bubbling out of her. He fought to regain control, brutally, before her laugh could undo them both. She wanted him. There was no happy ending here, but maybe… 

“It has been a long time. And things have always been easier for me in The Fade.” He paused, attempting to collect his thoughts. “I’m not certain that this is the best idea. It could lead to trouble.”

“I'm yours. If you want me.” She said, honesty a knife.

Of course he wanted her. The urge to reach out, crush her against him, press her against the wall and have her right here, despite the potential onlookers. To spread her out on his desk and drink from her until she screamed his name, pleading and begging, proclaiming to all of Skyhold that she was his. 

To promise her every last thing he could never give her.

“There are… considerations.” He finally managed. He could no longer put off discussing this with Wisdom. 

“Take whatever time you need.” She said soothingly. And then her expression fell in a flash, replaced by shock and pain. “Fenedhis. We have to leave. Now. Pack and we’re riding to Dirthavaren. As fast as we can. I’ll explain on the way. I have to go get the others. Within the hour, I’ll meet you at the stables.” 

She turned and ran from the room, sprinting as though seconds would count, ignoring Varric yet again. She shouted terse instructions to one of the scouts as she raced to her quarters, disappearing into the stairwell with the agent trailing after her. He packed for a journey, wondering what could possibly pull that look from her, and went to the stables, Where Master Dennet appeared to be saddling five horses with what looked to be two weeks of supplies. 

The others joined, and they took off from Skyhold at a hurried pace, riding as quickly as was safe with their mounts, Thenera tight lipped and anxious.

He finally pulled alongside her after the first hour, once they had reached roads that allowed them to ride side by side. 

“Thenera. What is about to happen?” He asked. 

“Something bad. I’m so so sorry, I thought there would be more time. I… I’m sorry. Did you ever find out about the Avvar and spirits memories?” She asked, and his stomach dropped beneath his mask. 

“Yes. It is a tenuous thing, not guaranteed to work. Is something about to happen to Cole?” 

“No. Not Cole. Wisdom.” She gave him a desperate, pained look, and the world lurched around him.

“We need to push harder.” He stated.

“I’ll take your lead on this, but if we push much harder we might wind up on foot for the last leg of the journey, and it could cost more.” She cautioned. 

“How much time do we have?” He asked. He would sacrifice all their mounts to get to her in time, but she was right, they stood to lose more than they gained.

“I’m not sure, a few days at most I think.” She said, and he set his mouth in a firm line and pulled ahead of her.


	46. Wisdom Pulled

“Good evening, Falon. It seems you have been quite busy.” Wisdom greeted him warmly, and then took in his expression. “Oh. Oh no, I see.”

“Ir abelas, lethallan.” He choked out at her. Thenera had told him the specifics, of his oldest friend being bound, and no way to save her, chances of arriving in time slim. He let her read them, read all his memories since the last time he had seen his friend. Helplessness surged.

“You may be able to stop it still.” She said, reassuring him despite her life being the one in danger. “And if you cannot, you are doing all you can. She is quite different than you expected to have told you this. She clearly cares a great deal for you to jeopardize her secrets for a spirit she has never met.” 

“If she truly cared so, why did she not tell me sooner?” He responded, anger flaring bright.

“Would it have helped to know months in advance with no way to know when it would happen?” She asked, soothing.

“I would have spent more time with you. We could have found ways to save you. I could have hunted the mages before they ever got the chance to summon you.” The anger tempered, regret taking its place at the fore. 

“And would you have abandoned your dream to find Skyhold without you?” She asked, calm and searching as ever.

“She could have told me the moment we arrived at the gates.” He said, bitterness on his tongue.

“And if you had become the bandit they bound me to ward against?” She asked, a path he had not considered. 

“Then it would be one more stone on the mountain of my mistakes. At least I would have done something.”

“Action is not inherently superior to inaction. I have no desire to die, lethallin, but I am not afraid to do so.” She said evenly. “I worry more for you.”

“Ir abelas. You should not worry over me under the circumstances.”

“What is it she always says to you? Tel’abelas. Do not be sorry. But please do not be alone. It seems there is much wisdom in your dream who has become your heart. I know you feel it is in poor taste to speak of such things now, but I hope you allow yourself happiness.”

“And for her? I can only hurt her, clinging to her as though she will save me from my probable fate at the end of this path. I do not even know for certain that it is her and not the anchor which has bound her to me. She is marked by my magic, and it may have changed her in ways I cannot comprehend, to make her seem more worthy than she would otherwise.”

“You do not truly believe that, but ask if you must. You believe she would speak openly, say as much as she was able.”

“And yet there is so much she keeps hidden, so many things left unsaid.”

“Much like you.”

“Yes. You were right, we are much alike. She delights in new knowledge, and hides her own wealth of it. She is an artist of some skill. Her presence is… astonishing. I begin to believe she is real.”

“And you fear the ramifications of that.” 

“She changes everything, but she cannot. My path cannot veer despite the admission. If everyone, all those I thought near tranquil, are truly people, it changes nothing. And she? She will hate me for it, hate everything I am for destroying her world twice over. For costing her heritage, for the fall of the Elvhen, and someday, the destruction of the veil.” 

“She may make her own decisions, and you should allow her to.” Wisdom admonished. “If she is real, she deserves little else. You cannot be sure she hasn’t seen the path laid before you and still found you worthy. She may know more than you, in some regards. She has already shown you much.”

“She has.” He conceded. “There is always the possibility she knows far more than she’s said. Perhaps she does know something I do not.”

“Good. She may save you yet.”

“I do not believe that possible, but I hope you are right, Lethallan. As I hope she is wrong this evening.”

“As do I. The chance hurts nothing. Please. Should the worst come to pass, give her a chance. Give yourself a chance.” She said, and Solas returned a tortured look, unwilling to promise such a thing. “Do not hold a failure against her, some things are inevitable, and some are not. Knowing the future does not change that. You cannot save everyone. Not even the ones you love.”

“I wish you had taken a body as I did. Then you would have no fear of being bound.”

“And yet a part of you wishes you never had.” She smiled sadly. “I have been content these long years living in the Fade and watching, seeing history unfold. If I had taken a body, I would have been bound in another way. It is alright, Falon. Here. If this is to be our last evening together, I would spend it as we have spent all our better ones. What shall we explore tonight, lethallin?”

“As you say, lethallan. There have been tales of an unnatural cold in this area, shall we see if we can find the cause?”

“That sounds worthy.”

They wandered and explored, finding threads of old memories spirits and wisps happily reenacted for them. There were Elvhen ruins, and he allowed the old sadness to settle in as they watched as parties of nobles played before them, swirling in silks and gossamers through dances, beautiful and tall in their splendor. In the background, in indistinct wisps that never fully formed, servants branded to Andruil passed crystalline glasses of fade touched liqueur with downcast eyes. 

No matter how much changed, some things never seemed to.

He looked to Wisdom. It was growing early, he could feel the dawn approaching through his slumber. Perhaps it would not be tonight, and they would have more time. Perhaps they would manage to save her. 

Or perhaps he would wake only to have her pulled when he could not see, could not sense her presence. Never to know when it happened, never to know what had happened to his oldest friend without Thenera.

He looked at Wisdom, at his dearest friend he may have to say goodbye to soon. Her presence shone bright with the memory found, new wisdom, new knowledge ever a source of happiness for her. 

“Do not be sad for me, Leth-” 

And then her words turned to a cry, tortured and echoing through every fiber of his being as she was ripped away.


	47. Tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters today! This one is short, so I'mma post the next one right after this. 
> 
> Also. I'm sorry.

He woke in a cold sweat, a cry strangled in his throat. He tore himself from his bedroll, trying to collect himself to leave, wishing, oddly, for tea to keep his mind active after such poor rest. He exited the tent. 

“Help a demon?” Bull’s voice came, harsh and cruel. Frustration welled, and he didn't trust his voice. They huddled around the fire with mugs and hardtack as light grew over the mountains to their back, snow capped peaks turning golden as dawn broke, and he stood and watched. 

“Yes Bull. She isn’t a demon, but there’s a chance that pulling her through against her will will twist her into one. Our goal is to break the bindings, and free her without hurting her or letting her kill any of us. If you don’t think you’re up for the challenge, you know which way Skyhold is.”

Thenera responded, calm and deadly. She meant every word, and the Qunari considered them, and the intent behind them, with the senses of a spy. It seemed they had already broken down most of their camp, with the horses saddled for the day and the other tent already packed.

“You really care about Solas, don’t you?” He asked, tone softening as he read between the lines.

“I do.” She said simply. “Though I would do the same for any of you.”

He swallowed. She was trying. She would do what she could to help, which was already so much more than most. 

“Alright. I’m in. Sounds like a challenge, and you’ll need my hammer.” He rolled his shoulders and shot her a reassuring grin. As she had said, he would help. 

“I bet all the girls love when you say that.” She returned, accepting his reassurance with smirk.

“Guys too.” Bull winked, and the corners of her eyes that saw too much crinkled as they glanced at Dorian.

He shifted his weight and cleared his throat, ready finally to use it. She turned at met his gaze, all traces of mirth gone and a question in her eyes. She took in his expression and her face crumpled, just for a moment before she set it in steel. She held out a mug for him.

“I made tea.” She offered, voice cracking through her mask, and he accepted wordlessly, taking a long pull that made his face twist.

“Don't like it? It seems well enough to me.” Blackwall offered, brows furrowed.

“It is tea. I detest the stuff.” He braced himself and drained the cup. “We should leave.”

“I’m packed and ready.” Thenera replied, standing and motioning to the horses who had been saddled.

He broke down their tent quickly with her aid, and Blackwall and Bull erased most of the evidence of their camp. They set out as quickly as they dared, already knowing it was too late.


	48. Wisdom's End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry.

She had been twisted. He could barely see the haze of who she once was, who she was supposed to be. Something ugly and dark grew in him as they confronted the mages, words barely remembered and pleading and sharp as the panic swelled.

Thenera stood unwavering at his side, commanding and true, proving her commitment to his cause with scathing words to the mages, and he turned to face his closest friend, knowing she most likely would not survive this.

He cast a barrier around their group as Thenera loosed an exploding arrow that flew true, cracking one of the pillars.

Wisdom’s vile, twisted laughter rent the air as she lashed out at the Warden with a crackling whip of foul energy. Solas tried to draw her gaze, hoping beyond hope to keep her from inflicting more damage to her nature.

There was no flash, no spark of kindness in the many eyes that mocked him. Pride. What a pititful thing he was. She knew, knew his hubris and his many, many mistakes, pushing memories into his mind of things once precious, now twisted against him.

_“Are you certain this is wise?” She had asked, as he prepared to unleash the Veil on the world._

_“It is the only option.” He had responded in his folly._

He dodged her, pulling her attention, making himself the most effective, most tantalizing target with his wealth of ways she could hurt him.

_“She has been slain, and I did nothing! I should have been there, should have found a way to prevent this!”_

He Fade stepped away, leaving her a hairsbreadth from the wall of fire Dorian had invoked, as the third pillar fell.

_“She doesn’t change anything?”_

_“No.” He answered resolutely. “She cannot, beyond the inconvenience of the anchor in her palm.”_

The twisted creature with Wisdom’s memories turned and lashed at Thenera, knocking her to the ground with a choked sound. The breath caught in his throat and he tried, desperately, to pull his friend away from his heart.

_“You cannot save everyone. Not even the ones you love.”_

Tears stung his eyes. He would kill the mages for this. He felt Dorian envelop his vhenan in a barrier, felt her energy surge. The others had paused, just for the barest seconds, and fear fluttered that perhaps she would turn on Wisdom. The others would follow her. Which way would he turn if she attacked?

“Back to it!” She yelled, clear and strong. An arrow flew past him, destroying the pillar nearest, and the Qunari and the Warden surged with her command, flying to the final pillar and reducing it to clattering rubble.

Her laugh, so cruel, quieted, monstrous form slipping away as if a bad dream, sorrow leaking from her. She sat, broken and small and far too fragile before him. She was dying. No amount of knowledge or foresight could have prepared him for this moment. He crouched before her, weight too much to bear standing.

“Lethallin… Ir Abelas.” He told her. It wasn’t enough. She was held together purely by his intention at this point.

“Tel abelas. Enasal. Ir’tel’im. Ma melava halani. Mala suledin nadas. Ma ghilani mir din’an.” Her voice cracked, pain lacing her words.

“Ma nuvenin.” He replied, voice rough and catching on the words. He reached out and pulled the veil around her, as gently as he was able, and she dissipated from this plane as if made from smoke. “Dareth shiral.”

Thenera placed one hand lightly on his shoulder, carefully walking the line between comfort and intrusion.

“Ir abelas, lethallin.” She offered softly, nearly whispering.

“Now… I must endure.” He said, pain cracking his words.

“I know. I’m here if you need to be squishy. Please let me know if I can help.” She offered. He tried to reassure her, to offer her a smile in return, but it was fleeting beneath the weight of so much lost. Wisdom had wanted him to be happy. She had wanted him to give her a chance, but there was a void between them, vast and deadly, laced with regret. At least, she had warned him. At least she had helped him try to save her. At least she gave him the chance to say goodbye.

“You already have.” He said softly. He saw the mages approaching again, over her shoulder, and he let fire fill his veins. “Now all that remains is them.”

“Thank you. We would not have risked-” The inept mage began.

“Did I say you could speak?” Thenera shot, deadly steel in her voice. She glanced at Solas and nodded. She knew he would kill them. She knew and she would not try to stop him. Good.

“You… Tortured and killed my friend.” He advanced, and they had the good graces to remain quiet. He let the fire in him well, bubbling and molten as they stumbled away in fear.

They should be afraid.

If he were not so very very angry, he would keep them alive for days to teach the error of their ways. But he was, and it erupted from him in a flash, charring them to unrecognizable cinders.

“Damn them all.” He spat venomously, staring at the scorched earth and the ashes, eyes burning. “I need some time alone. I will meet you back at Skyhold.”

He didn’t turn back around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since Elvhen is a game of intentions, I realized that the translation that we get in game might not be quite accurate, so I fidgeted with it a bit. Also. The Tel'abelas has a double meaning when talking about Thenera, so in this context, we get something more like this. 
> 
> Tel abelas. Enasal. Ir’tel’im. Ma melava halani. Mala suledin nadas. Ma ghilani mir din’an. - I'm not sorry for this, remember what I asked, about her. I'm happy, relieved to be myself again after that pain. And now you must endure. Guide me to this next journey.
> 
> Also? The talk about journeys breaks my freaking heart because that's what they've done for literally thousands of years together. The translation of "Ma ghilani mir din'an" doesn't really mean "guide me into death" like the game gives us, it's literally referring to a journey, the next journey, where Solas can't follow. 
> 
> I HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS ABOUT THIS. AUGH MY FEELINGS.


	49. Remember

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter is short! Uploading the next one right after this!

He walked, unseeing until he found himself back where they had tethered their horses, and he swiftly mounted his and took off at a gallop, not caring much which direction. He rode, wind whipping past as the scarred landscape flew by around him. 

This land was foul. Given and taken with blood, taken over and over until the ground was seeped in it and the veil was threadbare, tingling and prickling with the promise of more spirits to be twisted and pulled through against their will. Everywhere, the Dalish statues of him meant to ward him away, ward against evil, turned away from his people as he would never do. And yet he had. 

He slowed to a walk. It would not do to kill his horse in this mindless pain. He noticed some of the herbs needed to aid dreaming, and he dismounted and began collecting them without much thought. 

He wandered, looking for the right place. He would need to find somewhere he could sleep undisturbed, with ample food and water for his mount. Somewhere far from the civil war and smoke that littered this land. He rode south, until plains gave way to woods, and he found a sheltered alcove with grass aplenty and a stream that burbled through it. This would do. 

He tethered his horse and set wards, stronger than he would have for camp with the Inquisition. He made certain they would last, and pull him from the Fade should they be breached, and went about setting a fire. The thought of food sat ill in his belly, but it would not do to wake weakened by momentary hunger. He chewed hard tack and a strip of jerky, forcing the food down his throat, and threw the herbs into the flames. 

He lay down, grateful for the smoke that aided his mind to stillness, and fell into the Fade. 

The paths once so familiar stretched oddly, shadows long and landscape barren. He followed the path to her demesne, and found it gray, like expecting a garden in summer and finding it in the fallow of winter. He pulled, feeling the faintest flutter from the Void, something very nearly familiar, as though someone was calling her name from a great distance. 

Unlike the spirits the Avvar worshipped, Wisdom had no desire to manifest in the waking. She was wise in that way. Wiser than him, always. 

He set a small shrine to her. A poem from Arlathan, a small stone for his regret, and a book of history of the Children of Stone, a knowledge she couldn't glean from the Fade. Past, present, and an offering for the future. 

He called to the whisper, the smallest shimmering thing that may become Wisdom again one day, and he began to pour his memories into his offerings. 

Their creation, two sides relying on each other for completion, called into being by The People. She had delighted so in their endless questions, endless search for Wisdom, and he glowed with pride to see them strive. How she had questioned him taking a body, and decided not to herself. The triumph the day he pulled Mythal's markings from his skin to walk by her side as an equal; the pain as they watched the Evanuris fall to corruption. 

Endless days and nights debating how to contain it, to save The People from those they had elevated to gods, path paved in blood, a twisting blackness that threatened all.

And both had been caught unawares when Mythal became the scapegoat, the sacrifice to appease the fear. So many spirits of fear and despair had wandered elvhenan. 

She had stood by him through all, though the veil had wounded her, still able to hear their calls and unable to help.

He sat in her empty demesne and catalogued every memory he could, imbuing them with as much intent as he could muster. Remember. Please.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please-tell me your theories about the Void! I've been working on what will be canon for this story, but there's so little info and some of it seems to compete with other info!


	50. Grief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. Sad warning. Sorry. Kinda. 
> 
> Also I got a pair of the fancy poseable figures and decided to sketch part of this scene to practice with them. Only it turned into way more time than I intended, so please enjoy this!
> 
>  
> 
> <https://dirthenera.tumblr.com/post/184074508786/loss-of-wisdom-thenera-lavellen-comforts-solas>  
> 

He made his way back to Skyhold, his more recent memories with Wisdom pulling him back to the waking. He was unsure how long it had been, probably several days, but time in the Fade never flowed as expected, and he had gone deep. As he approached he felt the thrum of the anchor, a presence he hadn’t realized just how keenly he missed, drawing him ever closer.

As he made his way across the bridge, his gaze caught on Thenera, standing on the stairs, hair wet and dressed in something more suited to her new title, cream and gold and uniform-like. Ma’e’lu’lea’vune. It tore something in him, Wisdom’s wish fresh in his mind. She strode to meet him with purpose as he passed through the portcullis, emotion swirling on her face.

“Inquisitor.” He greeted, after dismounting and turning over his charge.

“How are you doing?” She asked. Her eyes were wide, soft and sympathetic. She had been worried for him.

“It hurts. It always does, but I will survive.” He answered, unable to keep her out, letting her see more than most.

“Thank you... for coming back. I was worried.” She said, all sorrow and guilt and hesitation.

“Have I ever not? In your dreams, I mean.” He asked.

“No. But I’ve never known in advance and still not been able to help.” She said, sad smile gone as soon as it formed, spreading her hands helplessly. Wisdom was right. She was rare. She had risked much to help him, help Wisdom, who she had never met and would never get to. He should have taken his dream to her, instead of a stolen kiss in the memory of Haven.

“You did help. You did more than most would have, knowledge or no. You were a true friend. I could hardly abandon you now.” He replied, attempting a smile of gratitude.

“Where did you go?” She asked quietly, still guilty.

“I found a quiet spot and went to sleep. I visited the place in The Fade where my friend used to be. It’s empty, but there are stirrings of energy in the Void. Someday, I hope she may return there. I spent several days in rituals, much like the Avvar, to see if her memories can be restored with time.” He responded, giving her all the knowledge he could of it.

“Do you think they will?” She asked hopefully, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Something similar may reform one day, but it might have a different personality. It is questionable if she will remember me. It would not be the friend I knew.” He responded, meeting her earnest gaze with his own bitterness.

“Ir abelas, Solas. Please. My offer from before still stands. If you need to be squishy, I’m here. And as far as I’m concerned, my quarters should be yours. You’re welcome anytime day or night.” She said. The thought sang to him. Of collapsing against her and allowing himself a moment to be weak, to truly grieve.

“It has been so long since I could trust someone.” His voice cracked. But she was the person he could least be weak with. The one who should not trust him in turn. The one who kept secrets as she did. They could never stand bare before each other.

“I know.” She responded, voice wavering. How much did she know? How much did she still hide, and would she tell him before it was too late? And yet… He did trust her. She had proved she would try. Proved she cared. Proved she would stand for the well being of spirits, that she saw them as people as much as he, though she couldn’t interact with most, veil as it was. She would take his word on this, extend her trust to him. Trust. A chasm between them and yet… She reached across, extending a bridge. Perhaps they truly could learn to trust each other, in their own ways. Give the secrets their space and trust in the spirit of the other.

“I’ll work on it. And thank you.” He said, and ducked away, pulling back from the swirling emotions, from her concern that rang so bright and true. No matter what bridges they built, he would burn them.

He ensconced himself in the rotunda, and continued to plan his next mural. There would be little sleep for a few days, and he could easily throw himself into this, the lines and colors and acrid smell of lime. He noted the pile of books the Ambassador had left on his desk, another excellent distraction, given that any of the authors were competent enough to hold his focus, as tenuous as it currently was.

He felt the anchor moving and flitting around him as he planned sketches and rifled through books. She stayed near, never straying farther than the war room, but gave him space, though she hesitated every time she passed the door that would lead her to him. It was distracting, and would be frustrating if it weren’t also so comforting. He sighed.

The sun had set hours ago, and he felt her presence recede. It tugged, pulling him, wanting her near. His vhenan. He had not noticed its absence in his mad flight from Dirthavaren, from the scene of Wisdom’s death, one more bereavement added to the torrent. Now, with her so near, it pulled, harder and stronger, and he wondered how much damage he would do to her if he allowed himself this one thing, this one weakness.

One night of weakness, as he had given her when she had confronted loss. To be, as she had put it, squishy.

“She wants to help but she can’t. Can’t unless you let her.” The spirit child said, appearing crouched on the clear corner of his desk. “She hurts, hurts for you, hurts in ways that haven’t happened and hopes that might fail. You can help her too.”

“Cole, can you not help this?” He replied, resolve cracking with the spirits words. The young one shook his head, strange hat enunciating the movement.

“The cliffs are red in her memory. She lost you, and you found her. Pulled her close and calmed. A balm. You fear she will see but she offers freely. She can help you.” His voice halted and lilted as he felt for the right words.

“I do not require it.”

“But you could be happy. Your friend wanted you to be happy.” Cole insisted. Solas’ throat tightened, and he swallowed uncomfortably. His brows furrowed as he closed his eyes against the prickling sensation that pushed on them. Cole gave him a whisper of a smile, and disappeared.

His feet carried him up the deserted main hall to the door of her quarters. A room he had never been to. He tested the door, hesitating. It was open, unlocked, waiting for him. There were stairs, and he climbed them numbly, avoiding debris still littered with barely a thought. There weren’t many thoughts left. He climbed and climbed and idly wondered just how many stairs there were for her to climb every day. He reached another door, another obstacle on his path to her. It opened as easily as the last. She was too trusting, always too trusting. More stairs. He climbed them and found her room, sumptuous and beautiful. His mind registered a few details, but it was _her_ that pulled. His beautiful, kind vhenan. He sucked in a shuddering breath, and she started, sitting up from her bed with a bewildered expression.

“Ir abelas, lethallan. I should have made more noise, or possibly less.” This was a mistake. He had startled her. She had never meant for him to come like this, when she was half asleep with far more important duties than his pain to attend in the morning. “I should not have come. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

“No!” She said in a rush, concern washing over her face. She began to reach out, then stuttered, pulling back as though he was a wounded animal to approach with caution. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it. Please. It’s ok for you to be here.”

Perhaps she was right. He was wounded. He cracked, and she came to him, stopping too far away. Respectably far away. But there was nothing respectable about this, and all he wanted was her. Against him, soft, filling his senses until he couldn’t think, couldn’t remember the pain that warped him now. Bury his grief in her, howl his anguish to her moonlight.

“You’re certain?” He asked, voice rough, knowing there would be no turning back from her decision. The moonlight that streamed through the balcony doors lit on her skin, so pale she seemed to glow as she reached out to him with certainty, bright as the kindest spirit of hope, and he sank against her.

“She was my oldest friend.” He managed, murmuring into shining silver hair that smelled of roses.

“Ir abelasis.” She soothed, voice cracking as she felt his pain, taking it into herself and settling it like a mantle. Another crack, another kindness that undid him. He sobbed into her, nearly collapsing under the weight of the grief he had unleashed. She led him to her bed and sat him on the edge, never breaking contact. He curled inward on himself, trying to contain the sorrow that leaked from his eyes by burying them in his hands.

“She believed in me when no one did, was there through so much. I have known her since I was young. Through every mistake and every joy, and now she’s just… Gone. And I must endure. I can never restore her to what she should be. I can never… I thought there would be more time. I always think there will be more time, until there… Isn’t.” He managed, throat constricted and mangling to speak through, but every word an admission, guilt and pain and sorrow and shame. He couldn’t save her. He couldn’t save anyone. He was so very selfish for being here now, for taking comfort in her, one he had already doomed. The mattress shifted around his back as she sat, curling around him as much as she could, offering relief he didn’t deserve. Her arms wrapped around his chest and squeezed reassuringly.

“I won’t tell you it’s alright, because it’s not. I’m sorry.” She murmured against his back, a lighter echo of the brokenness he felt.

“Why didn’t you tell me this would happen sooner?” The words escaped before he could stop them, needing to know, needing to hear it from her lips, in her voice. He had forgiven her, but he had to know.

“I didn’t know when it would happen for certain. I knew sometime after we arrived at Skyhold, but the timing has varied beyond that. I didn’t want you to carry the burden of knowing enough to suffer and not enough to plan or do anything about it. I tried, tried to send you the right direction to save her without laying the burden on your shoulders. I’m so sorry. I should have told you… And now? I’m so sorry.” She apologized, self abasement evident. She blamed herself, thought she could have done more, found a way to fix it.

“Was it like Haven? A necessary concession to ensure victory?” He asked. She let out a small breath behind him and loosened her grip, starting to pull back. His hands flew up to grab her, hold her there, keep her holding his broken pieces in the shape of something that resembled a man.

“Please. I don’t want to lose anything else right now.” He pleaded.

“No Solas. There are three things I want to change. Her fate was one of them. I’m not going anywhere. I just… Want to make sure I’m not pushing myself on you. I want to make sure you feel safe with me.” She replied, despair in her voice as she pulled him tighter, wrapping her long, pale legs around him, bare as her nightgown bunched next to his back. His breath caught at the want that pulsed through him, even now.

“You should not feel safe with me.” He warned her, clutching her tighter yet.

“Neither of us are precisely safe people, Falon. You’ve proved to be the safest person for me to be around. You may hurt me someday, but you’ll never want to.” She murmured against him, shifting her hands over his heart and clutching him back, burrowing her cheek between his shoulder blades.

“You’re so certain?” He asked. His head fell back, resting against hers, and he dropped his traitorous hands to his lap now that it seemed she wouldn’t flee. She should flee. But she sounded so sure, so much trust in her voice...

“Yes. Absolutely. You are many things, Solas. Proud and stubborn and occasionally misinformed, but you’re also wise and kind and dutiful. You search out knowledge and delight at being shown new things. You will always do what you believe is right, no matter the cost, and you are willing to carry the burden. I don’t know all your secrets, but believe that I see you and find you worthy.”

She said it without a doubt, without a waver in her voice. His head fell forward into his hands again as he choked on another sob.

“I do not deserve you, as I did not deserve her.” He admitted.

“This was not your fault. And you killed the ones whose fault it is. If there’s any blame left, it’s mine, not yours. Take it out on me if you need to.” She offered, guilt in her words lancing through his heart. As though he could.

“I will do no such thing.”

“Ok. It’s ok to hurt, ma….” She soothed and stuttered, tripping over words unsaid. “Falon.”

His breath caught. _The word rings in her mind like yours_.

“And hurt it does, falon.” He replied, emotions spent and hollow as the tears stopped.

She moved, nudging him to his side, coaxing him to lay in her bed that smelled like her. Mountain air and sweat and roses. She curled around him, tiny frame somehow enveloping him. Or maybe it was her presence. His eyes itched from the moisture lost, staring out blank and unseeing. She reached her marked hand up to his head, ghosting her fingers across his skin. His nerves sang in response, drunk on her touch. Against his back, her chest began to vibrate as she sang. The same song he had sung to her, voice rough and untrained but pure, and he closed his eyes against the onslaught of sensation. It crowded out everything else, leaving only her, bright and strong and soft around him. The song came to a close, and the silence began to stretch.

“Please continue? I have no wish to visit the Fade tonight. Perhaps with you guiding me, I can simply dream.” He entreated her.

“Of course.” She replied. She sang the few songs that remained in Elvhen, and he drifted along her voice. When those ran dry, she switched to common, singing songs that were soft and sweet, most odd and unrecognizable but for the voice that carried them, possibly the least graceful art she had demonstrated yet. Finally, sleep claimed him, her songs twisting into something wholly foreign in the landscape of dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ma’e’lu’lea’vune- My moonlight of secrets
> 
> Ir abelasis- I am infinitely sorry


	51. Vhenan

She was real. It wasn’t the anchor, it was her. It was too much, and he could not seem to forget the taste of her lips against his. Her eyes spoke volumes as she answered his questions, always so careful and measured. And she spoke of feeling apart, of seeing the good as well as the bad, and of love.

“Love?” He asked. He wanted to know everything about her, why she felt apart from that life, about her past and her dreams. And love. The word built inside, struggling on his tongue. Vhenan. Wisdom had asked him, had wanted him to be happy, to allow himself this one thing. Could he do that to her?

“Yes. Friendships full of it. And other kinds that have been lost.” She shrugged, gazing into his eyes as though she would tell him anything he asked. She was a marvel. She would see the flaws and still find value in the good. If only there was not so much between them.

“I see. Yes. Perhaps that is it. I suppose it must be. Most people act with so little understanding of the world. But not you.” He replied.

“I try.” She said, simply. She did. Always, she would strive to understand, to learn, to see the things so many thought of as frightening or dangerous, and start with knowledge and understanding.

“You succeed.” He said softly. She smiled at him, pink lips curling gently. He remembered their kiss in the memory of Haven, of how her very essence saturated the place, of her body against his and those lips… His breath caught on the memory, on the sight of her beautiful lips, of the heat shared and short moment that would live in his mind for the rest of his days. The admission slipped past his lips, low and hopeful. “I have not forgotten the kiss.”

Was he allowed to be hopeful? This was more than he deserved, surely. But it was more and more impossible to pull himself back, every glance and touch and laugh threatening an avalanche inside him. She was his heart.

“Fenedhis how could you? It was... “ She stepped closer with a smile, half lidded and bright, close, too close, beginning to work her way beneath his carefully crafted distance. He felt the pull of her and he understood, keenly, what she had meant after the kiss. It was much harder to avoid her. She let out a shaky breath. “Incredible.”

He laughed, something small and startled, and he shook his head. He should learn to keep his distance better. He needed more time to think, to consider. He stepped away, against the pull, against the pounding in his heart that desperately wanted to tell her, to taste her, to keep her; even if it could only be for a little while. He turned to leave.

“Please don’t go.” She asked, a plea in her voice, and she reached out, her hand landing on his elbow. Too close, the contact shattered his careful retreat as her pull overwhelmed him, the first tremors that signaled the fall.

“It would be kinder in the long run.” He warned her. But there was no chance now. The avalanche had begun and he would be buried, buried in her presence that had subsumed him in the memory of Haven. “But losing you would…”

He met her lips again, crushing her against him, restraint shattered. Vhenan, Vhenan, Vhenan, his mind played, as her lips parted and her tongue traced across his lips. He met hers with a groan, pressing her against him, balancing them both as she swayed on tiptoes, hands buried in his tunic and holding his neck, holding him to her as though she meant to drown in him. Trusting and utterly, devastatingly, at his mercy. He gripped her tight, holding her upright by sheer willpower as the kiss deepened and gravity seemed to stop, even here, even in the physical realm. He was gasping and reeling, buried in her, wanting more, ever more, a desperate aching he feared he could never sate, not even if they had all the time of his people.

The time he had denied her by his folly. She could have centuries, milenia, if it were not for the veil. They could spend years mapping the landscape of each other in every sense. He could not sate himself that way, not with so much between them. If she did not know, he could not take her as he longed to. What was that Dalish curse? He pulled back, breathing hard, and carefully settled her onto her feet, drawing away as every fiber of his being screamed to pull her back, to lift her up and hold her against him and offer her everything she asked. He could offer her one truth, at least. The truth that threatened to bubble out whether he willed it or no.

“Ar lath, ma Vhenan.” It spilled out, strong and vibrant in the morning air, and he turned to leave it, to leave this piece of brightness for her before he could see her expression, could be tempted to stay. He took a step and fell short, tugged by a pressure on his collar. Her hand was still buried in the fabric, holding him captive. Had she seen this before? Had she known he would leave?

“Wait, Vhenan.” The word sent a spike of happiness through him, from kiss swollen lips in her voice, setting his blood to sing through his veins. He turned back to her, smile irrepressible. “Ar lath ma. But I need to ask you something.”

 _The word rings in her mind like yours._ She loved him. She truly did.

“Will you release my collar if I agree to your interrogation? Because I must say, your tactics are already quite persuasive, my heart.” He asked, voice as light as his heart.

“That was an excellent attempt to completely throw me from my goals by making me melt.” She answered, returning a hopeless smile that he surely echoed.

“Did it work?” He asked playfully.

“Nearly.” Her smile widened to a grin. And then dropped, a sad, contemplative look taking up residence in its stead. She released her hold and took a steadying breath. “Would you feel this way if I wasn’t a puzzle?”

Oh. Oh no. Did she believe that he only cared for her because of her dreams? Because of the anchor in his palm? Did he? Had he not just asked her nearly that exact thing, whether or not it was the anchor that made her the person he had fallen in love with or it was something that was truly hers? He felt slightly ill as he thought back to that moment that felt so long ago, as he had tried to avoid her and failed. Where he had told her that she was an enigma; it would be too easy to get caught up in her mystery. She had carried this fear since then, even as she offered her love.

“I wish I could tell you with complete certainty.” He said, hoping she could hear the apology in his voice. “I do believe so, however. I would have been drawn to you regardless, that I am certain of. Your poise and grace, your wit, your thoughtfulness. Your rare anger and the way you blaze. And with all your knowledge, curiosity shines bright within you. The more I know you the more drawn I am to you. It was not your dreams that offered to stand between Cassandra and I that day in Haven, or happened to find the same spot to attempt avoiding each other by the lake. It was not your dreams that offered me safe harbor during grief. It is you. You are enough, Thenera, ma Vhenan.”

She wilted as her armor against the uncertainty wavered, a small smile gracing her features. He pulled her close, tucking her head against his chin. He closed his eyes, offering the comfort he could. At least, they could have this. At least for now. He could tell her all the ways she was enough, was important.

“Ar lath ma, Vhenan.” She murmured against him. He felt aglow at her words, a beautiful, sweet sadness settling over them as golden light filled the valley below.

It couldn’t last, but that did not mean it wasn’t worth having. Wisdom was right.


	52. Fresco

He finally had his brush in hand. There was no chance of him sleeping this evening, not with the buzz in his heart and the traitorous desire for his feet to carry him to her quarters. So he would paint. The rolls of thick paper lay ready, the wooden implement to carve the base forms into the plaster, the pigments had been mixed to the proper saturation, and the lime and ash lay ready to mix for the next coat of plaster.

He stood on the scaffolding, ravens cooing sleepily overhead, the fortress as still and quiet as it ever would be. He would likely have no distractions tonight. The walls had been measured carefully. There would be space for eight murals, and he had planned four of them.

Tonight was for the beginning. The breach. The skies torn asunder, the mountains framing the explosion at the temple. He dipped his brush in the jar of watery pigment and began to work, stippling and brushing his mixture of lime, of white earth and burnt sienna, and his black, made by mixing umber and lapis.

He worked his way down, from the eyes of the many, to the sky torn in so many places, to the mountains and the temple. The time passed in a blur, the only breaks as he moved the scaffold and laid new plaster for the next section, waiting for it to dry just enough to work, enough to properly blend the pigments downwards without leaving a seam, something that had taken an embarrassingly long time to learn.

He ate a few bites of food each time he was forced to wait, reading another several chapters of ‘Our Orlesian Heart’ between batches, a rather romanticized retelling of the story of Andraste with a much more… Hands on version of Shartan than he remembered. It was no great shock it was written by a _former_ sister.

He continued working down the wall, finally finishing this section sometime in the wee hours of the night. He dragged himself through the chill night air to his quarters, and removed his tunic dusted with lime before falling into the Fade. At least for a few hours before the new day’s demands would begin. He would start on the next piece the following evening.

‘Our Orlesian Heart’ turned out to be much more enjoyable than he had expected, and he caught himself reading it in intervals throughout the day.

It was one such interval, nearing the end of the day, that Thenera passed through. The thrum of the anchor brought a smile to his lips, filling his heart with happiness. A happiness she echoed in her own smile as she caught sight of him. He stood to greet her, and she pulled close, too close for anyone to mistake them for casual acquaintances.

“Vhenan.” He greeted quietly.

“Vhenan.” She replied, her voice warm and soft, sliding over his skin like shimmering silk. “I have a meeting with Cullen, but after…?”

“I would be pleased to accompany you for dinner.” He replied. Was she asking for more than that? Dinner, certainly, was safe. They had shared many meals together, cooked many together over fires before conversations laced with woodsmoke. More than that…. Was perilous. And he had painting to accomplish.

“I would love that.” She breathed, tracing a feather light touch down his arm that called a shiver along its path. She smiled, and wandered out through the door, heading to discuss something with the Commander.

She returned in less than ten minutes, expression stormy.

“Vhenan.” He greeted again, and a smile broke over her face, bright but weary.

“Vhenan. I’m sorry I can’t stay right now, someone needs me.” She said, and passed by, heading with purpose up the steps to the library. Curiosity piqued as he listened to her conversation with Dorian. A book of Fairy Tales? His jaw worked. Thenera could not possibly be so gullible as to believe the mangled myths of his life, the propaganda of the Evanuris.

“I bet your special apostate friend just loves those.” He heard Dorian say from above. Thenera responded with her usual wit, and returned down the staircase.

“What is so vital this evening, Thenera? And fairy tales?” He asked, disapproving, especially as it seemed it was no dire life or death situation.

“I would actually love your thoughts on these, and very much want to have a long conversation about them,” She walked closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially, breathy and rich and wholly inappropriate. “but my secrets aren’t my own tonight. I plan to sleep in my quarters, but it’ll be late. I’ll give you the answers I can there if you’d like.”

Secrets not her own? How many secrets of others did she carry, beyond the many secrets of her own? Would he find his way to her quarters again this evening?

“Very well, my heart. Perhaps I will see you there.” He replied, voice pitched to match her tone, and he watched her eyelids flutter. She wound her delicate fingers through his and leaned against him, small and soft in his arms, and somehow always cold. Her forehead met his cheek, and he pressed his lips against her. She let out a small, contented noise that seemed nearly subconscious, and pulled away, smile lingering.

“Though I’ll be back through in a few minutes, after I run to the kitchens. I do love how you’re on my path just about everywhere…” She shot him a grin and headed out of the room again.

True to her word, she reappeared some time later with a basket of food, book tucked into the corner, and headed back towards the rampart door. Towards the Commander. With dinner. He shot her a questioning look, and she shrugged, lips shaping the word ‘later’ as though it would be sufficient.

Yes. Painting this evening would take his mind off his heart’s picnic with the commander.

He felt her return as was in the middle of working on the first batch of plaster. As she entered, she stepped harder than usual, making sure the door closed with an audible click. Much more noise than she would make normally, and yet not so loud she would be startling.

“I appreciate the sentiment Vhenan, but it is unnecessary.” He commented, not turning from his work. A smile lit his face. She had returned and all was well.

“Oh right, anchor.” She responded, sounding distracted as she gazed at the wall. It was strange, he usually did not enjoy having others watch him, but a warmth filled him as she studied his movements, somehow able to feel her eyes on him even now, like this. It reminded him of better days, long ago, when sight was unnecessary to sense another’s presence. He could certainly sense hers, and the degree to which they were connected could not possibly be due to the anchor, which simply made it easier.

“Indeed.” He returned.

“Do you mind if I watch you work? I’ll be quiet.” She asked hopefully. Contentment filled him as he carefully stippled texture onto this section.

“If it were anyone else… I think I would.” He responded. It was quite odd how much he didn’t mind, seemed to instead actively enjoy her watching. He had only ever allowed Wisdom to watch in the past, always choosing a time to paint when only spirits were awake to see, and scattering many a spirit of curiosity.

“I can head to my quarters if I'm a distraction.” She offered, misconstruing. That would not do. He dipped his brush back into the jar of pigment carefully, tipping it against the edge before removing it, allowing the excess paint to drip away.

“You are always a distraction, my heart. But a welcome one. Stay if you would like.” He answered, giving her a reassuring glance. The look on her face reminded him of the day in Haven when she had first seen his sketches, wonder and yearning lighting her face. When he had been so set, refusing to allow his fingerprints to mar her, despite it being far too late. They were bound together, for better or worse for each of them.

He returned to his work, and he felt her settle on the couch. True to her word, she stayed silent. A comfortable silence, she was never one to be discomfited by the quiet, despite how loud and boisterous she could be at times.

He continued, laying in the eye of the Inquisition, ever seeking, set into the hilt of a sword. He smiled as he thought of the sword they had presented Thenera with, and of her comment on overcompensation. He glanced back to his couch, and found his heart reading her book of fairy tales, and she glanced up with a smile he could not help but return.

He laid in the knotwork, the intricate chains she had been bound in, dressed as a boon, and began carefully stippling in the background, and the shadows that overtook the chains in part. He worked the hilt of the sword, and finalized the texturing and details of the top section before climbing down the scaffolding.

She was asleep on his couch, book resting across her stomach, small smile on her face, even in repose. He mixed his next bucket of plaster, and laid it carefully, scraping the grey ash and lime mixture evenly and carefully across the wall, over the rough undercoat he had laid a few days prior.

Once it was ready, he wiped the plaster from his hands, and pulled the book from Thenera’s lap, covering her with a nearby throw blanket instead. She barely stirred in her sleep. She must have been exhausted. He brushed a strand of hair from his vhenan’s face, and her nose scrunched, almost imperceptibly, but otherwise she didn’t stir. He sat in front of the couch, chewing a few bites of food as the plaster dried enough to work.

He continued on, carefully lining up his paper sheets and carving the lines into the damp plaster. Rich siennas were next, carefully brushed on in a triangular pattern, representing the tapestry, the substance of the Inquisition, the rifts that brought a united purpose. He continued down the length of the sword, and finally, the wolves.

He had debated adding them, this small piece of himself, hiding in plain sight. But he was part of this, for better or worse. He worked them carefully, bright and dark by turns, her light illuminating much. They howled. For his feeling of helplessness as she lay in dreamless unconsciousness, for the wolves they hunted in the Hinterlands, for the howls that had led his Vhenan to safety as Haven fell. For the way he howled to her, his moonlight.

He finished the mural late. Thenera still slept on his couch, curled and content under his blanket. He cleaned his implements, wiped the plaster and pigment from his hands, and moved to wake her.

She didn’t budge. It seemed she was quite the heavy sleeper, her mind far from where her body currently resided. It would not do to leave her here. He gathered her slight form in his arms and carried her to her chambers, careful to support her neck in his hold.

Though she was slight, the stairs proved a feat. There were so many, flights and flights to navigate, rubble still strewn at odd junctions. He cursed his body’s weakness, though he had been growing steadily stronger while the breach was open, he had stagnated slightly, less direct energy from the Fade available for his use.

Finally, he climbed the final step, and carried her to her bed, laying her gently on the unmade portion she clearly favored. It seemed, since his last night here with her, that she had been leaving a space for him to rest beside her, and his throat grew thick.

He unlaced her boots carefully, pulling them from her feet, getting little more response than soft coos from her lips. He laid the blanket over her, and she twisted into her odd sleeping position on the large bed.

He turned to leave, but found his willpower run dry. His muscles protested as well, and he spotted the couch, right in front of where Thenera currently slept. It was large, and plush, and he could stay within her presence. He lay down, wishing that he could see her in dreams, could savor every bit of time they had together, and slipped into the Fade, alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to do sooooo much research into how frescoes are painted to write this. And now I wanna do one. Except I don't really have space. Soooo... maybe I'll just do a small panel or something.


	53. No Happy Ending

He woke with the sun streaming in through leaded glass windows, on her couch, pleasantly warm, though stiff. He slowly opened his eyes, allowing himself time to adjust, for the sleep to clear fully. He turned to the side, towards her. 

She was still sleeping, sprawled on her stomach with legs akimbo, her hand a soft fist against her chin and the plush pillow squishing her cheek. Her brows twitched, hand twitching, and she stretched, twisting to her side, facing him. Her eyelids fluttered, unwilling to release sleep just yet.

“Hello.” Solas greeted softly. A smile broke across her face before she opened her eyes, brilliant in the morning light, still soft from sleep.

“Morning.” She yawned, mumbling, and scrubbed her hands over her face as though she could wipe the sleep from her mind with the gesture. ” Two questions for you. First, how did I get here? And second, did you sleep on the couch? Oh and a third, would it be possible to get some herbs for dreamless sleep?”

Dreamless sleep? He started. What could she possibly have dreamt of that would cause her to want to stop dreaming? 

“Why would you possibly want such a thing, Thenera? Your dreams have been vital in saving lives thus far, mine included.” He sat up, final vestiges of sleep successfully pushed from his mind.

“Oh. Not for me. For Cullen. He’s been having nightmares.” She said with another yawn. He relaxed, until he remembered her picnic with the commander from the previous evening, making him bristle in a different way.

“Is that where you were last night?” He asked.

“Yes. He’s stopped taking Lyrium. He’s going to have nightmares for years to come given his past mixed with the withdrawals.” Some memory ghosted across her face as she spoke, and he wondered if it was something that would cause repercussions in the future, or would get worse before it would ease. This at least, he could help with easily.

“I see. I will see what I can do, I should be able to have them prepared before we set out for Crestwood.” Ever a mystery. He stood from the couch and moved closer to her, sitting on the side of the bed as she sat up as well. “As for the others; you fell asleep on my couch; and while it was quite endearing I thought it best not to leave you there. I carried you up, and settled on your couch for the night.”

“You carried me? Up five hundred flights of stairs in the middle of the night?” She asked incredulously. It was true there were many stairs, but he was not quite so weak.

“You are not especially heavy, Vhenan.” He said, offering a pointed look at her slight frame. She may be denser than she first appeared, but there was only so much weight she could carry in her willowy frame.

“I'm mostly muscle. I'm not that light. You must be stronger than I thought.” She mused. He watched her thoughts shift, and she quirked an eyebrow. ”Why the couch?”

“I thought it wise. I considered returning to my rooms, but after carrying you up five hundred flights of stairs in the middle of the night, I'll admit it was not the most appealing of ideas.” He offered. He did not tell her that he had no desire to leave her presence, to feel her pull so weak against him, but instead to be near. To be within the sphere of her grace, to be close enough to touch easily, to reassure himself of her presence, to let in her light.

“You could have shared the bed with me.” She offered, a twist to her lips. His heart caught, pulse speeding inconveniently.

“You did not stir in your sleep and I would not presume.” He responded. 

“Presume away, on that front.” A soft sleepy smile lit her face and she moved closer, ready to close the distance. 

“I will keep that in mind.” He replied, fighting against her pull. She froze, taking in his expression, and pulled back. 

“But you won't, will you? Why?” She asked, careful. Far too careful. Because of him.

“That is a complicated question.” He evaded.

“Then give me a complicated answer. And if you can't say the whole reason, that's ok too. Just… I want to be on the same page.” She answered. Always so respectful, his vhenan. Despite the pull, despite the fire that simmered under the surface. Despite the way her pupils blew wide and her breath caught at his touch. 

“Very well. Sleeping next to you is fraught with… Complications. You, your presence, your everything, undermine my self control.” He admitted. 

“Why is that a bad thing? Why not give in?” She asked. He could feel her heat radiating towards him, her very presence asking, begging for him to give in, to give everything she asked.

“Because I fear, vhenan, we would never leave this room.” He said, catching her gaze with a smirk, and he saw her flush. 

“We could send downstairs for a weeks rations.” Her brow raised in challenge, a matching smirk on her lips. 

“But then who would save the world?” He returned playfully.

“We could take a week off. Coryphetits can wait a little while.” She offered, a tone in her voice suggesting perhaps she knew it it be true. He thought back to Wisdom's words, about her knowing more than him. Maybe she truly did know, maybe they did get a happy ending.

“Thenera.” He said, weight in his voice stilling her mirth.. “Do you know how this ends? Us?”

“Not for certain. Probably painfully. ...Very probably.” She winced, pain clear on her face as the admission slipped from her lips. 

“And knowing that, you're still here?” He asked, brows drawing together in confusion. 

“Would knowing there was no happy ending stop you? I would rather focus on the happiness we do get.” She looked him in the eyes, too deep, seeing far too much and not flinching. Unafraid of the pain that she expected. His fearless, beautiful Vhenan. 

“I suppose it wouldn't.” He mused. These moments with her were worth it. Whatever was to come.

“Then kiss me please?” She asked, hopeful and vulnerable. He wanted to drink her in, get lost in each moment.

He pressed his forehead and nose against hers, savoring this simple touch, her presence. Her hands flitted up to caress him, never able to stay still for long. They ghosted across the bare skin of his neck, across the sensitive skin of his ears. He shivered against her.

“Since you said please.” He breathed against her. He tilted her chin up and captured her lips with his, soft and impossibly sweet. She swayed against him, losing the battle against gravity, and he carefully cupped her face, fingers splayed around her ears as she purred against him. He withdrew, stroking his precious dream’s face.

“I believe you have meetings to attend, Vhenan.”


	54. Another Inquisitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took waaaaaay too long to write, so I'm sorry! Next couple have some new stuff though! And... Still sorry about the emotional whiplash. Solas is just.... Augh.

“So. I get the feeling there’s something you want to ask, but won’t. Except I can’t answer it if you won’t ask.” Thenera stated, clear annoyance on her face. 

“There are often things I wish to ask you, Thenera. Could you be more specific?” He sat on his bedroll across from her, in their usual configuration, which she seemed to be taking a bit… Personally. But the thought of what could so easily happen if they were to make a habit of sleeping next to each other…. Of moments half asleep and not fully in control, of her presence supplanting all his sense. There were still lines. He loved her. He would not have her feel as though he had taken advantage of her, of feeling her body betrayed in addition to all the ways that were necessary. 

“Augh.” She said, uncommon vexation in her tone. She sat across from him, mirroring his position with a thoughtless movement. “Cullen.”

Ah. Yes. Cullen. The Commander, whom she had spent an inordinate amount of time with, sharing meals together and bringing books to his quarters several evenings. She had said he was going through lyrium withdrawals, something terrible on its own, but she had insisted on taking care of him, even asking if Solas would gather some herbs that allowed for a dreamless sleep. He surely did not need her personal attention, and it was discomfiting that she had turned down his offer to take her to her quarters the previous night, insisting on taking care of him despite her inebriation. Her inebriation that had left her altogether too affectionate. 

“Ah. Yes. I had not realized you were close with him.” He said in what he hoped would be a mild tone.

“I’ve been trying not to be. But withdrawals? I can help. I’ve done it before.” She said, trying to offer him her reasons. She had tried not to get close to the commander? But why?

“Trying not to be? Why? And when have you been in this position before?” He looked at her with curiosity. He would take every bit of knowledge she would offer. 

“My first clan had some shady things going on the side, including a small number who got caught up in lyrium smuggling. My brother was one of them.” She said, meeting his gaze openly. So this was the story, of why she had been in two clans, of why she did not outright deny the terrible things the Dalish had done. She had seen some firsthand, and her family had been caught in the crossfire. Family. This was the first time she had talked about them to him, and no wonder. He felt a pang as he remembered his harsh words about her people. Of course she would avoid talking to him about them.

“I’m sorry.” He answered. 

“Me too. But my mamae and I helped him through the withdrawals when he realized he needed to stop. He’s doing well now, now that we’re away from that clan. Bonded a few years ago, and happier than I’ve ever known him to be.” She replied, a small smile on her face. Bonded? Her brother bonded, and yet her not. A whole family he had never considered. Mother, brother, and his bond mate. She had not mentioned her father, and may yet have other siblings she had not discussed. 

“Older brother?” He asked.

“Younger. I… Obviously didn’t find someone in either clan.” She shot him a rueful smile, hiding pain. “There were a couple close calls. One was a miracle I got away, he was in Clan Ghimyean. The other? I… He got bored of me and left. Moved away.” 

She shrugged, something that didn’t quite dispel the sense of hurt behind her words. His jaw worked. 

“Bored?” He said, edge to his tone he didn’t attempt to hide. Of all the idiotic reasons. There was no world where anyone should be able to tire of his precious, vibrant Vhenan, gentle and strong and ruthless and merciful. 

“I was too much in the wrong ways and not enough in the right ways. But you wanted to ask about Cullen.” She said, clearly deflecting. A topic she was unwilling to delve into too heavily, and he would respect her wishes. 

“You said you were specifically trying not to get too close.” He asked, steering the conversation away despite the urge to linger, to demand to know what this previous lover had been thinking and tell her every way that she was enough. But he couldn’t, it wouldn’t help. He would have to leave in the end as well.

“Right. Well. This might make you uncomfortable, and I’m sorry about that.” She grimaced. “There was a version of this I saw in my dreams, where I was someone else. She had a relationship with Cullen, and he admitted to her that he’d had feelings for her for longer than he should admit, before he really knew her, and their relationship changed him. He got to be happy.”

Thoughts raced, another facet of information revealed, another thing that should be impossible. 

“For her? Someone else? Please elaborate.” He asked, voice clipped. Every time he thought he had begun to see the extent of her mystery, another layer was revealed. 

“I’ve been trying not to let him develop feelings for me, because I can’t offer him that.” She said, as though it explained everything, and not nothing.

“I was referring to ‘someone else.’” He said pointedly.

“I’ve seen snippets in my dreams were I was watching someone else, a different Inquisitor.” She said. His stomach dropped out from under him at the implications. 

“There could have been others?” He asked, caught unprepared. His jealousy seemed pale in the light of such a revelation, and his brows pulled together at the implications.

“Yes. There were so many people at the Conclave, it was just a matter of who wound up that that exact spot at the right time. It was just an accident that it was me.” She said, offering a small shrug. “Though.. Most of the steps are the same, and some moments are fixed no matter who.”

How many others could there have been? How many who now lay as charred ashes? Just how much had this creature, this impossible dream seen? His thoughts stuttered as another possibility occurred to him.

“What would have happened to you if it had been someone else?” He asked, quelling the momentary panic that bubbled, suspecting the answer but unwilling to admit.

“I’m not sure. I probably would have died in the explosion.” She offered, a nonchalant shrug punctuating her words that was so very at odds with the unspent adrenaline as he was forced to consider a world where they had never met. Where the Inquisitor was a stranger. Where she had never stared at him with Fade green eyes as he connected the anchor to a rift, where she had never found him in the Fade and kissed him so carefully, and he had drowned in her. 

“I am very glad that you did not.” He said quietly. She was so very precious. His jealousy of Cullen seemed strange and small now. After all, how many times had she chosen him? How many times had she bared her soul, despite every effort of his to pull away?

“Me too.” She said. “You don’t have to worry about Cullen. I have no interest in him that way. Even if I could get past the fact that I just don’t find him especially attractive, he is… far, far too nice and safe for me.”

It took him a moment to process, for his moment of tenderness to be cut by her words. She was not wrong. He had even told her so much. No one had ever accused the Dread Wolf of being nice or safe. Except that she had once told him he was the safest person for her to be near. That she was the one who allowed the tender thing in him to take root.

“Too nice and safe? I suppose I have told you myself that I’m not, Thenera…” He trailed, jaw working. She met his gaze with openness, a frankness that refused to posture or flourish. 

“You aren’t.” She explained. “You’re passionate and brilliant and caring, and you’ll stand your ground for your beliefs. You will never become just an extension of me, and you will never fear telling me your opinion. You aren’t nice. You are so, so much more. I would walk all over Cullen. I have a strong will and I need someone who can stand up to it, not someone nice who will strive to please me even if it harms them. I have no wish to abuse anyone like that, and I know myself well enough to know that I would if it was too easy. I have.”

Her words grew more passionate as she continued, brows furrowing as they poured from her. She knew herself. Better than most. The hurt began to dissipate as the understanding bloomed, the tender thing in him healing and burgeoning.

“You will walk by my side as an equal instead of one of us trailing behind the other.” She continued vehemently. “You aren’t nice. You are compassionate and wise enough that spirits of those natures have counted you as a friend.You’re my heart, my partner, and my equal. Ar lath ma, Solas, vhenan.”

She meant every word. She saw his pride, his stubbornness. She saw his attempts at wisdom and compassion and believed them true. She saw him as an equal, not because of what he was, but because of who. Even as an Elven apostate, with her as the leader of a great organization, she saw them as equals. 

The woman who had freed the mages, who thanked every person of every station. Who respected his choices and challenged his views. Who always, always, surprised him. An irrepressible smile lit his face and he needed to touch her, needed to reassure himself she was truly real and not only a dream. His dream. He crossed over the aisle of armor and knelt before her, cupping her face with his hands to assure himself.

“There are few who could say such a thing and still manage to make it endearing. You are magnificent, Emmaera.” He looked into her eyes and watched, mesmerized, as hers softened. The crease between her brows melted, contentedness radiating from her being at this simple touch. 

“Emmaera?” She asked, leaning into him.

“My dream.” He responded. “Emmaera, and ma’lea’vune. My moonlight.”

He barely had time to register the smile that lit her face, lit his world, before his back hit the floor of the tent and she was on top of him, pinning him, lips greedy against his. He froze. He froze, just for a moment, and she thawed him. He was on fire beneath her, tangling and pushing as she covered him, lacing her deceptively strong fingers through his and holding him captive as their tongues danced, more eloquent than any words that had passed between them. 

He felt her warm, rising to match his heat, usually cool skin a furnace, stoking him higher and hotter and… 

“Thenera.” He warned, even as he ground against the core of her heat, control slipping dangerously. She took a shuddering breath against his neck, and his eyes fluttered shut in response. 

“Do I need to stop?” Her voice was rough with desire, rough with need for him. He could feel every strained breath through the thin cotton of her nightgown, the nightgown he had thought of so many times, and he couldn't help his body's eager response, twitching against her, giving lie to any reality where he wanted her to stop. She whimpered in his ear, the sound alone enough to drive him to madness, and her hips jerked against his. The barest threads of control broke, and he let out a groan, hips snapping up to press against her heat, painful and swollen with far too much fabric between them, and never, ever enough with her. She met his motion, biting back a moan that made her vibrate against him, lips once again on his and devouring, and he pulled his hands from hers to sink into the fabric at her hips, sinking in and grabbing her to him.

He sat up, pushing her with him, until she was straddling his lap. He pulled her closer, working one hand into her hair, and pulled her back, needing to taste her neck, needing to hear her sounds of desperation, needing to feel the tiny silver earrings with his tongue. She gasped as he pulled, a shocked sound that turned into a deep purr as she melted, letting him guide her as he wished. 

If he had retained any amount of control it would have snapped as she shuddered and rocked against him, her voice a litany of wordless pleas backed by a resounding purr from her throat. He wanted to devour the sounds. Memorize every one of them, turn them to precious gems and bestow them on her. Her nails sank into his neck as he grabbed her ass and pulled her closer yet, as though there was any space between them, as though all the things left unsaid could be quashed if only they pressed a little closer.

“Please.” She pleaded, a desperate sound that sent a thrill of victory through him, and he couldn't help the low laugh that followed, breathing hot air against sensitive skin, and she shuddered into him, caught and at his mercy.

“Please what, Vhenan?” He asked, rocking against her again and reveling in her inarticulate state. “I’m afraid you’ll need to be more specific.”

“Please…” She pleaded, her glorious mouth struggling to shape words. “Please, can I taste you?”

He could not hold back the groan that escaped. The thought of her lips on him, of her brilliant eyes looking up as her wet heat surrounded his cock, her impossibly pink tongue swirling around him. He nearly came undone, pressure building rapidly. A milenia without touch, only to waken to her. He pulled her away by the hand still tangled in her hair. He had never stood a chance.

“Thenera…” He breathed, meeting her gaze. She was flushed, nearly matching the branches of Mythal that twined across her visage. How could he possibly be so lucky as to have found her? 

And he would take everything from her. He would destroy her world and cost countless lives of those she called her people. Perhaps… Perhaps his plans could wait. He could give her himself, fully. Could steal time with her. 

But it would still be a lie.

“I don’t think that’s the best idea.” He admitted, straining to regain his careful control. He fought his every impulse and released his hold on her. This could not happen again. 

“I think it might be the best idea I’ve ever had. Unless you don’t enjoy that.” Thenera replied, her voice a deep rumble, and his chest tightened. Little could be farther from the truth. He clamped down on the expression that was sure to give him away. He should lie to her now. Tell her he didn't want her lips around him, that he was uninterested in having her in any and every way she could want.

“I assure you that’s not the issue.” His mouth answered, despite his thoughts. 

“What is?” She asked, searching his eyes with hers, dark with lingering desire and the bare light from the candles. They bore into his, searching for answers and seeing too much, and he was suddenly very glad he had not lied. She placed her hand over his heart, a reassuring touch that somehow managed to question.

“We should get some sleep, Vhenan. We have a long day tomorrow, and I would hate for you to be injured because I kept you from proper rest.” He answered, dropping his gaze from hers. At least, this was not a lie. Secrets were one thing, a currency they both traded in. At least he could do this, could keep from lying to her. He heard her take a deep breath, blowing it out in a frustrated huff.

“Dread Wolf take me.” She cursed. He was very lucky for his current state of mind, or he would have burst into laughter at the words, a strange turn for the Dalish curse. Oh, if only she knew how badly he wished to. He swallowed the surge of emotion before anything could be made of it, and she petulantly unhooked her legs and slid from his lap, a graceless gesture that belied her mood.

“Ir abelas.” He apologized. What he wouldn't do to give her everything. She closed her eyes against his words, brows drawing together for a bare moment before she opened them with a pained expression.

“No, it’s ok. I just… Didn’t realize there was a boundary there.” She said, apology in her tone as she soothed. She released another breath, all traces of ire disappearing from her mien. “I’m sorry I stepped on it, and I’m sorry for my frustration. It’s been a while and I don’t always do well with cooling off when tensions get so high.”

“I… Thank you. That is very considerate.” He caught her gaze again, eternally surprised by his heart, by this moonlight given form. Something lurked there, something unsaid that should not be pried at. 

“Not really. Boundaries are important.” She offered a nonchalant shrug, and the smallest of lopsided smiles in appeasement. “Though I might need to run into the lake.”

“Cold water does seem like a good idea.” He replied, increasingly aware of the unspent pressure that churned within him, an unpleasant yet useful reminder. He wondered idly how many times he could talk about himself before becoming suspicious. “That is not a curse I’ve heard before, it’s generally ‘Dread Wolf take you.’”

“What can I say? I’m a strange one.” She replied, quirking a playful brow at him. 

“That you are, my heart.”

He pulled her against his chest, letting the discomfort settle into his belly. He would handle it later. But for now… Their time was precious. She made small contented sounds against him, and he closed his eyes, trying to memorize this moment. Through all the terrible things yet to come, he could have this. He could hold on to this moment, hold on to all the beautiful moments with her.

No matter what lay ahead.


	55. False Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter is short, sorry! Uploading another chapter of Punching today too! And will be uploading the next one here in the next couple days, just gotta polish it a little!

“You ache for her. You cannot deny it, not to me.” Desire said, raising a hand that looked like Thenera’s to reach out and touch him. He took a step back. 

The Fade swirled around them as Desire attempted to pull places from his memories. The fireplace from the cabin in Haven, the bed from the inn in Val Royeaux, her bedroll… A campfire, like so many of the ones they had sat by as the others wandered off, where she had given him her secrets and demanded none in return. He walked to the fire, away from this false dream, staring into the flames and remembering all the times he had caught her eyes glinting from the flickering light.

“I do not.” 

“Then why will you not have me? Have me like you cannot have her?” She trailed behind him, coming to stand before him, next to the fire. She tilted her head, languid green eyes trying so hard to capture her and failing.

“I will not betray her like this.” He answered. 

“Every moment with her is a betrayal. At least this one will leave you feeling less… Uncomfortable.” She tilted her head, chewing on her lip as she fidgeted with her hands, drawing them slowly over each other and up her thighs.

“If you were attempting to change my mind, that was a poor tact.” 

“But you cannot truly be with her. You will never overcome everything that lays between you, unless you abandon your purpose for her.” She drew her hands across her arms, as though she might be sore, highlighting the tantalizing curve of archer’s muscles working beneath pale skin. He turned his face to the fire.

“Just because a story has no happy ending does not make it not worth telling.” 

“We could be together forever.” She offered, cooing in Thenera’s voice. She reached towards him, a hollow gesture as he moved the Fade to keep her from landing the touch. A harsh snort escaped his lips.

“Ah. Yes. An eternity of hollowness, as I am slowly driven mad by the simple fact that you are not her.”

“I can be more like her. Please, can I taste you?” She said, pulling the words from his memory. She reached towards him again, melting the simple clothes Thenera favored under her armor, and standing before him clad in naught but her flesh. His stomach turned. 

“No. That is enough. You will not wear her face again. Leave.” 

He had hoped not to resort to this, but he waved his hand, and she flew back, knocked away by his will. She let out a huff, shedding Thenera’s form with petulance, and left. He returned to searching the Fade for anything that might be useful in this area, anything that might help their goals, and might help his dream.


	56. Lives Taken

The crack that rent the air was deafening, a boom that reverberated, pulling through the veil as a contained maelstrom. He felt it, the way it warped around her will, as alien as the veil had first felt to him when erected. 

Suddenly, the pieces slipped into place. The strangeness of the anchor after Haven. Corypheus had attempted to pull it from her with the power of the orb, and had consequently unlocked it further, fumbling as he was. Just enough to be dangerous. 

And now… It was less stable. Less stable and in the palm of a mortal elf. Of this elf, who watched the leader of the bandits be ripped apart with the raw energy of the Fade, a grim determination set on her face as the green light glinted off matching eyes, making her look otherworldly and terrible. He watched his heart’s remaining years diminish before his eyes, and clamped down on his mask before the panic could reach the surface. He must retrieve his orb. He must pull the anchor from her, now that the breach was sealed. 

The din quieted, leaving a loose pile of remains where the leader had once stood, and every member of their group stared at Thenera in shock, save Cole. 

“Andraste’s tits, Glowy.” Varric said, a look in his eye that suggested that she was no longer the small elf who had taught him to hunt, who had needed help setting up the human tents the Inquisition favored, all those months ago. “Remind me to never get on your bad side.”

The qunari spy mumbled is agreement, clearly uncomfortable with this new magic that could so easily rend flesh.

“That was… Terrifying. Can you teach me?” Dorian breathed, awe and excitement in his tone.

“I believe that was specifically tied to the mark, the anchor.” Solas offered, not wanting to give any more ancient elvhen magic to Tevinter, not that he could recreate this. Not without the mark, his magic. “Though it does seem to be a new ability tied to it. How did this happen?”

“Happened when Coryphetits tried to take it. He did something to it, changed it somehow, or unlocked it.” She answered, absentmindedly rubbing her palm as she moved to retrieve what arrows could be saved. 

“Does it hurt?” He asked, attempting to match the nonchalance of her tone. Certainly, none but she would be able to read the layer of desperation and panic that simmered beneath the words, beneath the carefully crafted mask he wore. Save one other.

“Bright, blinding, too much. Not pain but loud, struggling against the pull, eating her away. It will kill her, but not yet. Maybe not ever. A cost.” Compassion answered, as Thenera offered a halfhearted smile that did not reach her eyes. Odd. Her lopsided smiles, so common, leaned right with happiness and left when humorless.

“Yea, like that. Been making it a little hard to concentrate today. It builds as we fight, like… almost like the adrenaline fuels it. It feels less stable, but it’s also very useful.” She said. She pulled arrows, wiping the blood from them and inspecting each before returning them to her quiver, losing herself in the monotony to keep from focusing on his words. She knew then. Knew the anchor would kill her. She had hinted before, but this was different; she knew. He turned, searching for the dove grey fletching she favored, seeking the same distraction.

“When did it first happen?” He asked, needing to confirm the answer his logical mind had reached. 

“The night Haven fell. In the tunnels. There were banshees, and I was spent on everything except my adrenaline.” Her voice rang hollow, not backed by her usual humor or cheer, or even anger. Simply… Nothing.

“I see.” He answered. 

Little else was said as they finished the grim task of retrieving arrows and crossbow bolts, and removing all useful items from the bandits. They built a pyre and burned their bodies. The smoke rose, a steady stream as raindrops sizzled and popped as they struck the flames, smell of meat filling the air. 

They decided to make camp for the evening, and scouts were sent to help secure the keep and begin the process of making it truly theirs. As the others set up tents, and Iron Bull set to cooking their evening meal, he found her staring at the remains of the pyre. He made his way down from the battlements, into the courtyard where she stood, far more still than he usually saw her. Her eyes flickered to him briefly as he moved to stand beside his heart. Whose life had been both saved and doomed by the magic that thrummed in her palm, his magic. He had doomed her.

“Do you ever feel like you’re a monster? That somehow, you’ve fooled everyone into believing that you are good?” She asked quietly. A tremor of guilt and shame wracked him.

“I have felt such things before, yes.”

“Why don’t I feel anything? I care so deeply about you, about Bull and Varric and Cole and so many people in the Inquisition. But I look at these bodies, these people who once had lives and friends and loved ones, and I feel nothing. What is wrong with me? I ended their lives. I ended their potential.”

“Potential goes in both directions, Thenera. It is the burden of leadership that sacrifices must be made, and inevitably, there will be blood on your hands. That you can recognize that, that you can do what needs to be done without great cost to your sanity, has and will continue to serve you well.”

Truth be told, he envied it. To live without regrets of past actions, to not be haunted by the things that could not be changed. She was a fine leader, built for the role of caring for those under her wing and striking with efficiency at those who would threaten her goals.

“I recognize the need. I just… What does this say about me? I can spend all day killing and go to bed thinking of nothing but you, about the objectives for the next day, the struggles of our friends and the things to come. But I don’t spare much thought for the lives I’ve ended.”

He wondered how easy it would be to turn from the path of kindness she walked now, how easily power would corrupt her. He had seen kindness such as hers twist before. He looked at her profile, watching her confront this part of herself that could be a boon or a curse. He wanted to believe that she was not like them, not like Andruil. The huntress’ freckled smile flashed in his memory, a time before the Void, before the Blight, before her sacrifices, and he suppressed a shudder. 

“How many lives had you taken before the Conclave?” He asked, wanting to reassure her, and himself.

“None.” She answered flatly.

“None?” He asked quizzically. He tried to remember back to their fights, that first day of blood and rifts, three desperate days after the breach had torn the skies asunder. She had not been especially proficient, but neither had she flinched, dancing from blows that many would have taken and putting herself between others and harm.

“None. The first fight in the Hinterlands was the first time I’d killed anything other than food and demons.” She responded, shooting him another glance before returning her gaze to the burning bodies before them.

He inhaled sharply.

“I’m sorry. I had not realized.” He was certain no one had, she had pulled her arrows from her first kill with the detachment of practice. He had assumed she had killed many shems. He had assumed too much, and asked too little. 

“It’s fine.” Her face twisted into some approximation of the wry smile she so often wore. “I’m used to using a much more diplomatic approach when dealing with the shems.”

He moved to stand closer to her, and she wound her fingers through his as she stared at the pyre. He could feel the anchor pulsing against his skin, a heartbeat that pulled against his, pulled against hers.

“I won’t let it kill you.” The words tumbled out, so easily mistaken for the empty promise of a lover. She squeezed his hand in hers, and turned to look at him with a smile so full of sadness he felt his heart break, just a little.

“I know.”


	57. Revenant

He heard the strangled cry ring out, and before he had consciously decided to, Thenera was enveloped in a barrier. The others fanned out, and he realized just how much they had all relied on her knowledge, on her foresight, as each party member struggled to enact their part. 

Thenera uncorked an elfroot potion and tipped the contents into her mouth. There was no time to assess her beyond making certain she was conscious, and he turned, spewing lightning from his staff into the towering Revenant that had caught his heart so off guard. 

He felt the familiar tug as the anchor connected with the rift, disrupting it with a crackle. He continued attacking as she tore at it, finally disrupting the flow of the Fade into this world, pulling the wisps physical forms apart by their loosely woven threads. Only the Revenant remained, looming as Bull tried to keep its attention.

He failed. 

The barrier faded from Thenera, and another blast of spiraling green energy knocked into his dream, ripping a mangled cry from her lips as she crumpled.

“Thenera! No!” His answering cry resounded, and with a roar from the Qunari, the demon fell. His feet carried him, running towards her, and she shuddered, attempting to sit up as more demons clawed their way through the rift, and he covered her with another barrier. A rage demon stood between him and his Vhenan.

Not for long.

He threw his magic with impunity, wrapping the veil around himself with an intimate caress, pulling and twisting and throwing the Fade back into this world, as it should always have been, if more violent. He bared his teeth in frustration against the choked connection.

Again, Thenera reached out and disrupted the rift, still on the ground, and he clenched his jaw at what it must cost her. He wished he could turn from the fight enough to read her expression, to see that she was not killing herself over this rift, when there were more to come and much more to do. She was not supposed to be the one to leave, and his gut twisted at the thought.

A wisp saw her vulnerability and drifted towards her, raising its spectral hands to unleash a blast. He had no way of stopping it in time, with how quickly he had been unleashing his mana. He raised his staff towards it, hoping he could cast in time, just as a wall of fire erupted right before the thing, sending it dissipating back through the rift. He shot a grateful glance to Dorian.

He turned his attention back towards the rage demon, where Bull was screaming distraction as Cole hovered behind, searching for places to sink his daggers. A sheen of sweat covered them both from the heat, and he shot lightning between blows from the Qunari. Dorian’s magic focused on defensive casting against a similar element where his fire would be ineffective. Bianca’s bolts disappeared into it, burning even as they bit deep. There would be no recovering them.

The demon fell at last, and the wall of fire dropped with it. He ran to Thenera as she raised her marked hand one more time, closing the rift before any more demons could come through. As the anchor released, she collapsed to the ground, dangerously still.

Panic swelled as he reached her side, and she looked up into his eyes, still alert despite the pain. He glanced away, to the injury, and forced himself to remain calm as he reached his mana into her to assess.

The blast had ripped through the layers of belting, her leather coat, her under tunic, and left a patch the size of her hand oozing blood, skin eaten away and showing bone, exposed ribs heaving with each labored breath.

“How bad is it? This sucks.” Thenera replied, attempting her usual humor. Her voice shook, and he swallowed, brows drawing together.

“You can’t tell?” 

“Probably some shock. I know it’s not great.” She said, far too calm. “Breathing hurts, but I still can. Something ribs? I can’t tell right now.”

He poured his mana into her, coaxing the flesh to knit back over the exposed ribs, and skin over that. He pulled, reaching deeper through the veil, wisps fluttering and pulling around her. He would be exhausted tonight, and he hoped, desperately, this was the end of the fighting for the evening. Her numb expression softened, turning to the barest whisper of a smile. His heart fluttered, perhaps, she could feel how much she meant to him, how intimate their bond was. 

“You’ll live.” He answered her, relief suffusing his words. The others began to approach.

“Good. I would hate to let everyone down now, while there are still rifts and Coryphetits.” She answered, voice evening. He shot her a look of disapproval at her nonchalance. She should not be so carefree with her wellbeing.

“Yea Boss. Rub some dirt in it and walk it off.” The Qunari added, his voice closing in on them. Solas felt his jaw work at the Ben’hassrath’s callousness.

“I’ll get right on that. As soon as I can walk again.” Thenera responded with her usual cheer and as much of a smile as she could muster through the exhaustion, a faint shakiness still evident in her movements. 

She moved to inspect the wound, twisting to look at the patch of new skin with interest.

“Was it real gross?” She asked, propping herself up on her hands to get a better look.

“Part of your side was eaten away with raw energy from the Fade, Vhenan. What do you think?” He answered, and she winced, chastised.

“Oh. Lovely.”

He poured the last bits of his mana into her, and Dorian offered her a potion, which she accepted gratefully. He looked into her eyes, and found them sunken, skin waxy and clearly exhausted. She needed rest, and food. 

He reached out a hand to help her stand, and she gripped him tightly as she rose, wavering on her feet before she planted them beneath her with determination. She withdrew her hands from his support, face still far too pale, and pushed her shoulders back, head high, leading. 

They could see her broken, bleeding, and naked, but they would never see her truly weak.


	58. Not Worthless

She walked, slower than usual but still regal, drawing them from the clearing, when her eyes caught the steam rising from a nearby pool, and she made an unmistakable sound of glee.

“Wait. Is that? It’s a hot spring!!” She cried, immediately dropping her weapon to begin divesting herself of her ruined armor. He made a strangled sound in his throat, turning his gaze as heart crept into his ears. To be so exposed, here. To have her so exposed. It was not as though he had not seen her nude before. But that had been… After a grievous injury, when her well being had trumped all propriety.

He had been saving her life, a moment of desperation that stretched to hours, morphing into something intimate only later, once modesty had been restored.

She seemed to have little care for that virtue.

“Join if you want!” She said, smile evident in her voice, even as he avoided leering. He realized with a start that though he might refrain, the Iron Bull certainly would not. At least Varric had the decency to look away.

“Thenera!” Solas chided.

She met his gaze, all stubbornness as she slowly unbuckled her breastplate, challenge writ in her face, even through the exhaustion. His breath sped, and for a moment, he wished it was only the two of them, with her gaze boring into him as she carefully stripped. It was good they were not alone.

“Oooh. Are we all to get in the hot spring with the infamous Herald of Andraste? This sounds like the beginning of a terrible joke. ‘The Herald, an apostate, a demon, a dwarf, a Vint, and a Qunari strip together…’” The mage from Tevinter joked, interrupting the silent conversation between him and his dream. Bull chuckled, and Dorian began to strip as well, beginning the process of unbuckling the many straps of his outfit with a flourish.

“I’m not a demon.” Cole answered defensively.

“No Cole, you’re perfect.” Thenera reassured him. She bent, pulling off her breeches with care, carefully navigating the tender remnants of her wound. He sighed, yielding to her stubbornness, to this delicate dance on razor’s edge. He tried not to note the way her muscles slid and worked under pale skin, strong shoulders and her shapely legs which ran and walked every day, corded and shifting with each movement of her feet.

“So, you, uh, really don’t mind Boss?” The Qunari asked, offering more concern than he would have expected from the spy. Thenera shot him a reassuring smile.

“Dalish. You find a hot spring, everyone gets in. No space for some Chantry enforced morality that makes life harder.” She worked at the mess her silver braid had become, combing the damp strands with her fingers until they fell loose around her face.

There was a certain amount of practicality to that, even as he felt his heart speed.

“Fair enough.” Bull responded, shucking clothing.

“I’ve never been in a hot spring.” Cole commented hesitantly, gaze flickering between the steam rising and their party members. “I didn’t know it came off.”

They continued to banter, and he began removing his clothing as well, unable to keep his gaze from flickering to Thenera. Her tunic hung, tattered and blood soaked from her shoulders, and she pulled it off with a practiced efficiency, clearly not trying to distract. And yet… The muscles of her stomach rippled with her movements, shiny pink patch of new skin over her ribs a reminder of the intimacy they had shared mere minutes ago, his lack of mana making him feel strangely helpless and far more exposed than the skin his heart now bared.

Her breast band, tattered as it was from the attack, unraveled and fell away from her, revealing sensitive skin still indented from the lines of the band, pink nipples matching her lips, reminiscent of her Vallaslin. He swallowed as a flush rose, and he averted his gaze.

“We should leave smalls on. I don't think anyone wants to answer those questions for Cole.” Thenera suggested, and he shot her a grateful glance.

“What questions?” Cole asked innocently.

“Tell you when you're older, kid.” Varric said with a wave.

“No you won't.” He responded petulantly.

Thenera was the first to enter the water, sinking in with an exhausted smile at Cole's antics, and let out an appreciative sound.

He quickly undid the remaining toggles on his leather tunic and unlaced his breeches, pulling them off in a quick motion and entering the water with the others.

After their morning of caves and damp and dead things, the hot water felt lovely on his skin and muscles. He leaned back, finding a rock to rest on, and allowed the heat to seep into exhaustion, into the depleted reserves and letting it pull the awkwardness, the indecision, and the vulnerability from his mind.

Thenera clearly had the same thought, leaning back to float in the water, unconscious of the way her ribs and breasts stood in the rising steam, her hair a silver halo until she shook it out.

His beautiful Vhenan. His heart swelled, as did other parts, and he was grateful for the dark water that obscured anything beneath the surface. He forced a deep breath from his lungs and glanced away, looking to their party instead.

Cole wore his hat still, and it bobbed as his gaze shifted between their group. Dorian sat, a self satisfied smile tilting his mustache with half closed eyes. Bull's gaze was heavy lidded, occasionally looking to the mouth of the clearing, refusing to be caught off guard again. Varric lazed, eyes fully closed and completely at ease.

“Alright. If this is part of the ‘wilderness’ thing, it’s not so terrible. Definitely going in the book.” The child of stone said, leaning back to relax further. Solas sat up, grateful for the distraction from his distraction.

“You’re writing a book about the Inquisition?” He asked.

“Yea. Not sure what I’m going to call it yet.” Varric replied, not deigning to open his eyes. Ah. So this would be chronicled. And his part would not be downplayed by societal expectations. In fact, it was sure to be… Colorful, with the dwarf at its inception.

“Are you certain you can do this magnificence justice?” Dorian asked, offering a wry smile as he waved a hand towards himself.

“I’m sure it’ll be a trial, but I’ll see what I can do.” Varric responded.

“What are you going to say about me, Longshot?” Thenera asked, drawing his attention back to her as she sat up with a splash, curiosity clear on her face. She worked her fingers through her hair, coaxing knots from the strands, unable to keep them still even now.

“That shit’s weird and you’re the ringleader.” Varric answered, and her head fell back in a pealing laugh that sounded half mad and full of secretive mirth. The child of stone scrubbed one broad hand over his perpetual stubble. “Yea. Like that. You stare off all weird, laugh at weird shit, blow shit up with your weird-ass mark, and have no problem spitting in the face of your scary ass, would-be-god enemy that _I already killed once_.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it sticks next time.” Thenera replied, still suffused with mirth and seeming unperturbed by his admission to her strangeness, a power he could surely never guess at. Her confidence was staggering after barely surviving the last encounter with the magister, setting his thoughts racing. Somehow, he was unsurprised by her ability to make him question, even as she distracted him unwittingly with her form.

“You say that now, darling, but you just had some of your skin melted off by a minor demon and your special apostate friend had to save your sorry ass.” Dorian said, sniffing dramatically. Thenera shot him a good natured glare, eyes narrowing.

“Good thing he’ll be with me when we face Coryphytits.” She replied loftily. Varric choked at the name, apparently the first time he had been privy to this particular nickname.

“Well _that’s_ definitely going in the book.” He managed. He glanced back to Thenera, and he schooled the puzzlement from his expression as he watched hers fall, clearly elsewhere. What was she seeing?

“Cracked pain, sadness, fingerprints shattered. ‘ _What we had was real_.’ But that wasn’t. That wasn’t this.” Cole said. His blood went cold despite the heat, gaze flicking to the spirit and following his gaze, even as Cole’s gaze moved elsewhere.

Thenera looked tortured. Her senses snapped back in place, and she attempted to smooth the emotion from her face. He quickly looked past her, to the rock formations behind her, mask rising reflexively. The questions could wait.

“Who was that one for?” Bull asked, gaze snapping to attention and scanning their group with the intent of a spy. Solas felt a surge of protectiveness.

“Perhaps it was a memory held in this place.” He offered, with a humble smile to pull the Qunari’s attention from his heart. He grumbled, and Thenera managed to gain control before the distraction passed.

“It was a dream, but it also wasn’t. Layers of scars, outside matching in, building armor of bones that leaves your heart bare and raw. It’s not worthless.” Cole continued, and his heart made a strangled sound that left no room for doubt. He attempted to sift through the words, searching for meaning in Compassion’s speech.

Fingerprints shattered. Fingerprints on her soul. A pain she had tried to mask when he had asked about the end. ‘What we had was real.’ Is that what he was to say? Layers of scars, outside matching in. He thought back to the night in Haven, after a day of toil and the smell of elfroot, of discovering the scars that littered her forearms. He hadn’t given them much thought at the time, little more than making her more real, more tempting, more unlike Desire. And all this had come about speaking of defeating Corypheus.

“It’s been discarded enough times.” She responded quietly, and his chest constricted as his thoughts scattered, redirected by the sudden smallness of her voice, by the overwhelming need to comfort her. He stilled himself from going to her, from wrapping her in his arms in front of all.

“If you kept it locked away you would be someone else. You don’t want to be someone else. You want to be you, the you that cares, even if it means you hurt.” Compassion replied.

She closed her eyes, brows furrowing as she released a shaky breath, blinking more rapidly than usual. His vhenan, who would choose to be hurt if it meant she could live without regrets. Who had questioned her ability to feel just the previous night.

“Yea. I suppose I do, Cole.” She offered him a weak smile, and the spirit bobbed his head. He had pulled a tangle and loosened it.

Moment of peace broken, they left the small sanctuary. He watched her don armor over damp skin as he followed suit.

She led as she always did, head high as they skirted any possible enemies. She insisted on speaking to the spirit and releasing it before making camp for the night, her tenacity and endurance admirable, despite his worries that they would be ill suited to any other accidental fights.

Luckily they returned to the keep without further incidents, mana replenishing as they ate a hearty stew that could have used more spices. He watched Thenera eat, clearly ravenous, and moved to follow her as she finished and left the fire, Coles words still echoing in his mind.

Her wound was still tender, and with more mana to give, he could coax her body into further healing, perhaps even chasing away the angry pink scar that had marred her side in the hot spring.

He entered to find her removing the last of her armor, pitifully tattered blouse hanging from her shoulders, reminding him how small she truly was. And how fragile. How easily all of this could be ended. The wrong movement at the wrong time, reflexes not quite fast enough, and she could be gone. He pushed the thought aside. She was resilient.

“Thenera, may I check your wound again?”

“Of course, Vhenan.” She answered, offering an exhausted smile. “Though once I sit I'm likely not getting back up.”

He looked over her and saw the truth of it. How much she had been posturing, and how much she must trust him now to allow herself to be weak in front of him.

“Then stay seated and I'll bring your nightgown once I have checked your wound. May I remove your tunic to examine the injury site?” He asked, careful in his tone. It would not do to have his words taken as invitation, and so he forced the edge of heat from his voice.

“You mean what's left of it? Yea definitely.” She answered, and she awkwardly began to remove the garment, struggling against the tender area. He stepped closer and lent his hands to the task, careful to brush her skin as little as possible.

She collapsed gracefully more than sat, and he called light into his hands to better examine the wound site, careful with his gaze. The blue memory of fire cast her skin to an eerie glow, as though she had become cold moonlight. She craned her neck, trying to see the injury without further stress to the new tissue there, seeming without much luck.

“Oh, I should grab my mirror.” She murmured. The exhaustion in her voice caught his attention, drawing his eyes up to meet her sunken gaze. She should likely not move more this evening.

“If you allow me to heal it fully, it shouldn't scar, Vhenan.” He answered soothingly.

“Really? You’re amazing. I would like to see though, still.” Warmth ran through him at her praise, and she met his gaze with a curiosity even her current state could not satisfy.

“Allow me.” He turned away, to her pack where she would undoubtedly carry a small mirror.

“Left side pocket on the outside.” She offered. He found it easily enough, and searched the main compartment for the familiar cool grey of her nightgown, which she took gratefully. It would be best to keep the distractions to a minimum.

”Ma serannas, Solas.”

She turned the mirror towards herself, and he offered the light, and he concentrated on the area as well. Yes. He would be able to heal it fully, and replenish his mana by morning. She nodded to him, curiosity sated, and he focused on his task. It did not take long, her body greedily pulling every bit of magic he offered, a closer bond than he could remember forming in milenia. Not since the veil, certainly.

When he finished, he pulled back, unfurling her nightgown and handing it back to her, heart heavy as she pulled the garment over her head.

“It's not worthless, Vhenan. You, and your heart, are precious to me. Please never doubt that. No matter what is to come.”

She swallowed, gaze turning to the canvas walls above them as she blinked away tears. He reached out, to offer the comfort he had so desperately wanted to earlier, and she nodded at him. She sank against him, allowed to be weak here, with him, safe. Though neither of them was safe. He swallowed against his heart’s trust, trust he did not deserve despite how he craved it, how he loved it. He would treasure the gift forever, even if he did have to leave.

“No matter what is to come.” He echoed.


	59. Galanor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I think this may be one of my favorite chapters to write so far! NSFW! 
> 
> Elvhen
> 
> Galanor- magnificent
> 
> Emmeara- My dream

His mind was a haze as her lips whispered against his skin. Whispered love in every word, every caress, every gentle touch that skimmed across fabric and skin alike, setting his nerves to singing, such a contrast to the langor of his muscles. He shivered and shuddered, and she purred. He could feel her smile against him, feel her happiness, her contentment, a balm to his very soul.

Something new. Love he had known, but this? This was new, achingly sweet, something he had never experienced, had never expected before. Something he had not even known existed. His form felt too small for all the love contained, he felt it spilling out, filling the tent, mingling with hers, and he could have wept for how much it felt like home.

And then her lips were on his hands, pressing gently and murmuring praises he had never known he would want, and then her lips parted, drawing one of his fingers into her mouth, and he meant to protest but the only sound was that of pleasure as her wet heat surrounded him, tongue swirling and sucking and suddenly he was on fire, the tent was certain to burn around them.

“Emmeara…” He managed, attempting a warning that came out more like a plea. He opened his eyes and pulled his unfocused gaze to meet hers, playful and wicked and soft, so much softer than she usually seemed, and far too much. His eyes unfocused again as she kissed his wrist.

“Vhenan, if you would like, you can let me take over for a little while. You can let go of your control and simply enjoy.” She offered, a perfect smile on her perfect lips, a visceral reminder of what lay behind them. He swallowed, attempting to place some sort of wall back between them, find some sort of answer that was not a plea for her to have him in any way she would like.

“That is most certainly not a good idea.” He managed, raising his eyes to hers again. Her smile was still so soft… If his limbs worked, he would most certainly be running one of his thumbs over those beautiful lips, memorizing the feel of this smile by touch.

“Tell me where the boundary is for tonight and let me show you it’s ok. A little at a time.” She reassured, her voice low and metered and purring. _Galanor_. Would she truly? A bottomless pit of desire between them, and she offered this. Much further, and he would not even remember why he should not be inside her, should not be filling her, crying her name and giving her everything she could ask for and more things that could not be named.

“It is not much further than that, I am afraid. At least for tonight.” His eyes drifted shut against the disappointment of his own control.

“Thank you for telling me Vhenan.” She cooed, breathing a whisper of cool air across the wetness on his finger before her lips met his fingertip again, a gentle kiss that would be nearly chaste were it not for the heat of the room and the desire that beat like a pulse between them.

“May I please remove your tunic? Or is that too much?” She asked cautiously. He shuddered against his control, testing the breaking point, every inch given the chance for the dam to break, to surrender, to give in.

He nodded against better judgement, and her hands flew to his belt. A brief moment of panic surged, certain this would be the moment she pushed, the moment his defenses were too low to stop her, and a thrill ran through him at the thought despite himself. She offered a reassuring smile, slowing herself as she carefully lay his belt down.

She turned back then, a gentle smile on her face that eclipsed all rational thought, and she brought both hands to his face, holding him as though he was precious. She brought her lips to his, a gentle brushing of rose petals against his skin.

How was this possible? This gentleness, this precious feeling that filled their tent to bursting.  
She was ruthless and assertive and sometimes crass. How?

Her fingers skimmed the rough knit of his tunic, running down the length of his chest, his stomach, slipping beneath the hem and then up, tugging the material up as he felt her fingers through the soft leather undershirt he always wore.

They were cold, he could feel the cool touch even through the leather, sudden and shocking and already oh so much. He hissed in a breath, a fleeting glance rising to see her, candlelight flickering off her hair and dancing in her eyes, smouldering. He closed his eyes as the garment came over his head, immobilizing and blinding him for a moment before the sleeves pulled free, and she guided the collar carefully around his chin and ears.

Her deft hands moved to the toggles that held his leathers in place, slowly, deliberately working them as he sat, helpless in her clutches.

She peeled the leather away, and he shuddered as air hit skin that was so rarely uncovered, oversensitive with her touches and kisses that had not carried to this skin.

And then it did.

A questing touch, mapping the exposed areas with strong hands that chose to be gentle, fingertips dipping and curling and fluttering. Much too much. Not enough. He quivered, taut as her bowstring beneath her expert fingers as she plucked at every nerve that set him singing. Sounds fell from his mouth but he could not be sure what they were, whether wordless pleas or a litany of poetry, a ceaseless prayer for her to never stop.

And then her nails scraped across the skin, across the indents of seams pressed into flesh, scratching with the ease of a practiced hand, and he could not hold back the groan that escaped. She purred, a pleased sound that sent a shiver down his spine, another sensation adding, building to the tower of emotion, sensation, and pleasure that filled him, threatening to topple everything.

She pulled back.

“Stay right there, my heart.” She murmured, and he nodded slowly, despite the absence of touch that now felt like torture. He opened his eyes, needing a tether to her with the sudden withdrawl of her hands, and he found her turned from him, slowly raising the green tunic she had worn, tantalizing skin revealed inch by inch.

He watched her back muscles ripple deliciously, his fingers twitching with need to touch her, to feel her pale candlelit skin, feel the corded muscles work as she pressed against him. She worked slowly, throwing a sultry glance over her shoulder that made him both grateful and rueful at his body’s current state of overwhelmed incapacity. _Isalahima_ , it was called. To drown in desire. And drowning he was.

He swallowed as she unwound the dark fabric breast band with the same care as her tunic, silver hair brushing her shoulder blades as she moved, fabric falling away and leaving the curve of her spine uninterrupted, leading his gaze along its path, to the dimples that rested just above her breeches.

She reached forward, accentuating the curve of her waist, and his fingers twitched again with longing to rest his hands there, to grip just at the top of her hips, pull her against him. She unfurled her nightgown and let the soft material envelop her, covering skin that was far too tempting before pulling her breeches out from beneath it in a deft movement that left her calves bare in the light. She turned back to him, still impossibly soft, collarbones and long neck gleaming.

She murmured a soft noise, an assurance.

“It’s alright Vhenan. Everything is just fine.” She hummed, raising slender hands to cup his face. Link reestablished, he melted into her touch, tension evaporating from his body, threatening to leave him sinking to the floor of the tent.

It was only her hands, holding his face so reverently, which kept him sitting upright.

“How is it you continue to surprise me so? I have always pictured our roles reversed from this, and yet... “ He paused as his mind sought words, releasing a sigh to allow his lips and tongue to form them. “This is... Words seem somewhat inadequate.”

A gentle laugh like silver bells met his ears, and when her voice replied, it was deeper and richer than he had heard it before, cast low, an intimate caress that none outside their tent would be able to hear, even if it was not for the barrier that enveloped them, granting privacy.

“You’ve thought about this? How many fantasies have you had about me?” Her hand found his heart, a reassuring weight against the playfulness of her voice.

“More than I should admit to, perhaps. Though it seems you do not mind?” He raised his gaze to meet hers, questioning, finding only warmth and love, with just a hint of wickedness.

“Not at all. I’ve been having my own from the moment we met. And if you’d like to try this the other direction next time, I’m game. Sometimes releasing control is exactly what’s needed.”

“Yes.” He breathed.

“And we’re both very used to being in control.” Her voice thrilled through him, desire pulsing through his body with each pounding beat of his heart, captive under her fingertips.

“That is true.”

“And I can think of far worse things than being at your mercy, Vhenan.” She offered. He raised his gaze to hers, liquid pools of desperate need, held carefully in check. He swallowed at the thought of her control snapping, as his had so many times, and his eyes drifted shut again as his breath came faster.

Her lips met his collarbones, soft and dewy as she traced a path of love across his sternum and up his neck. Her fingers, ever moving, grazed down his exposed skin, up his ribcage, sending an unfamiliar sensation jolting through his body, and he yelped against the suddenness, the sheer amount of shattering feedback, twitching away from her despite everything.

She answered with a delighted laugh that reverberated through the tent, bouncing off the barrier and back again.

“You're ticklish!” She exclaimed.

“I am no such thing.” He returned immediately. Or was he? Had it truly been so long since he had been touched that he could not even remember the sensation of being tickled?

He was not given time to ruminate before her hands found the spot again, coaxing another twitch, another thrill of sensation before he batted them away, stifling the laugh that threatened to overcome him.

Her gleeful response caught him off guard as she pressed, moving with the dexterity she usually reserved for battle as she worked her hands back to the spot, pressing an offensive and forcing his foggy reflexes to respond, batting and twisting from her as their laughs reverberated together through the tent.

Each time he caught her hands in his, she twisted, slipping from his grasp, like water, like elusive moonlight, again and again until he wrapped a band of magic around each wrist as he grasped them, binding her, pushing her wrists to the ground beneath them.

He took in a hard breath, laughter still rumbling between them until he caught her gaze, brilliant green nearly eaten by the well of black, and he was falling, drowning, and he was certain that she would catch him.

He lowered his lips to hers, tasting the salt of his skin on her lips, her laughter as it dissolved into need. She arched her back against him, pushing herself closer, tilting her head so their lips could meet more fully, or had that been him? He drifted closer and closer to her, falling in slow motion into her, and she rose to meet him, to catch him, to drown with him.

He would drown with her.

He pressed against her, pushing her into the ground as she wrapped her legs around his, urging him closer, tighter, not drowning but flying, flying with her, rising to new heights.

She was a raging furnace against him, and he could feel the heat from her sex through her nightgown, through his breeches and _oh how he wanted_.

Wanted to taste her, to feel her, to find perfection, harmony, home, inside her. His tongue delved into her mouth, never enough and too much, gone and at her mercy even as her hands were trapped in his. She pushed against him, sucking his lip between hers and biting, a playful nip that sent a jolt of electricity through his body, and he bucked against her, repaying her in kind with a bite that made her gasp, a delicious sound against his lips. He transferred possession of both of her hands to one of his, freeing one of his and wrapping it around her thigh and sliding up, up to her hip, gripping her in place as he pressed his aching cock against the heat of her core, desperate for more.

Between each beat, each pulse of their bodies meeting, he set his teeth and lips and tongue to her neck, drawing sounds he wished he could bottle from her lips, her throat vibrating beneath his tongue. He began murmuring promises as each surge pulled them away and back again, waves of the ocean pulled by the moon, wishes and lurid praise and grand gestures spilling from his lips as they were pulled away from her skin, only to meet again and pluck more moans, more cries, more desperate noises from hers.

He moved his hand up, desperate to feel more of her silken soft skin under his fingers, finding the dips of her ribs and crest of one breast, breath catching as he recalled the soft pink that matched her lips, and he surged again, pinching her nipple as he bit down, still not enough. He could feel even more of her heat, nearly feeling the wetness of her through his breeches, and he groaned against her, certain he would give in, certain he would fall over the edge before he could, spilling against her, for her, everything for her.

“Stop.” Her voice rang, raspy and rough, but true.

He froze.

What had he done?

It was never supposed to go this far, he was never supposed to abandon control like that. And now….

A cold pit of dread filled his belly and he pulled back, removing his hand from under her nightdress.

Reluctantly, he met her gaze, ready to face her look of betrayal, ready to face these consequences, at least.

Instead, she was flushed and gasping, pupils still blown wide as she carefully unclenched fists that had dug small crescents into the flesh of her palms.

“Are you alright, Emmeara?” He asked, forcing his tongue back to Common with some difficulty. “I was not overstepping, was I?”

“Not for me.” She said quickly, with another hard breath to steady herself. “But you trusted me enough to let go of your control and I don’t want to you to wake up with regrets. I don’t want you to regret anything that happens between us.”

Realization was slow through the fog of need that still pulsed through him. She had stopped him, not for herself, who clearly wanted more, but for him, who had already specified his boundaries for the evening. He sat up and offered his hand to her, and she took it gratefully, looking as though she wished to pull him back down to her despite what she had just said. The gray material of her bedclothes slid back over her, and he realized he must have pushed it up, must have been pushing against her bare sex, and a tremor ran through him at the thought of being so close to her bare skin against his, so close to her sensitive skin against his, so close to giving in, so close to having her.

So close to betraying her in one more way.

“Thank you.” He answered. “I… Do not want to regret any moment with you. And I never want you to feel as though I have taken advantage of you, someday in the future.”

“Please don’t tell me that your boundaries are for my sake.” She answered, an obvious chastisement in her voice, still rough with need.

“I cannot take advantage of you with so much between us.”

“We both have secrets, Solas. Are you worried about mine?” She challenged. He considered a moment. It was true she had obvious secrets, but it was certain they could not be worse than his. And no matter what they were, Thenera was still his dream, still his moonlight given form, still his heart.

“No. You are my heart, and despite how much I know you keep from me, it would not change my view of you.”

“Then why won’t you trust me enough to make that same decision about you for myself?” She pressed.

“There are things you don’t know…”

“There are things you don’t know.” She returned. He tipped his head to her slightly in acknowledgement.

“You may have a point, my heart. I will consider it. But I believe it is quite late now, and we should get some rest.” He offered her a smile, leaning forward to cup her precious face in his hands. “Thank you for tonight. I cannot remember the last time I felt so light. So happy. You are magnificent, Vhenan.”


	60. Musings

Skyhold was beginning to feel like a home again. His feet knew the stones, the familiar pulse of magic echoing through them clumsily. His ears knew the soft coos and loud caws of the ravens overhead, knew the murmurs of the library and the occasional Tevine curses. 

Knew her footsteps, drawing past several times a day, bringing the call of the anchor and the singing of his heart. 

He never thought to find this strange Ferelden structure built on the bones of his fortress so familiar, so warm, so inviting. And yet.

He glanced up to see her smile, and it seemed as though the bleak world he had woken to had regained color. 

“Vhenan.” He greeted, giddy as her smile widened.

“Vhenan.” She returned. Thenera grazed her fingers across his hands before turning to head up the staircase, the secret smile she saved for him on her lips as she turned. 

He could not help but savor these days. All logic demanded he hurry, he put his plans into motion as quickly as possible. Defeat Corypheus and recover his orb. But his heart… He knew exactly what she meant when she had wistfully wished for this to last forever. 

The days ticked by, hundreds of stolen moments he could not bring himself to regret. Watching her dance with the Ambassador, grace faltering as she caught his eye, hearts skipping a beat in tandem. A bet, a meal, a kiss, and a promise.

A promise he should not have made, a promise to give in. A promise he had very nearly fulfilled right at that moment, as her breath came hard and all her perfect lips could shape, a breathy please. 

He would give in. He knew now that it was inevitable, it would always be this way. There was no world he would not love her, no world he would not wish to give to her. And though he wished it could be the world he had known and cherished, the world as it ought be, he could at least give in, relent to her as she had relented to him. It was only a matter of time. Precious, fleeting time with her. Before it came to a painful end. Because it must. Thenera knew as well, determined to savor each moment, a balm against the pain that waited, very probably.

She had said very probably. 

Did that mean there was a chance? A chance for it to not end painfully? Perhaps, a chance for it to not end? A chance this plan would not destroy him, that she might just be willing to see him as more than the monster history would paint?

Or would he put off his plans for her, live out her remaining years by her side? He would have to tell her. He could not keep so much from her, and it would be noticeable, as she passed his appearance in age and he remained the same. As he watched her body age as it never should have been. And yet.

A future, a tiny tendril of hope, unfurled in his chest. 

He had never thought a life of happiness might be possible. A life of purpose, that he understood. A life doing what must be done for the greater good of the people. But years of peace? Of contentment? Of love? That was something he never thought to find. It would be so easy… To simply let this become a home. To love and be loved. To have precious years together. To grow, to bicker. To argue over spices as they made meals together, to weave their hands together, openly, as they walked the halls. To make her tea in the mornings with two spoonfuls of honey, to curl beside her at night. To smooth the worry and anger away as they faced this would be god together, to watch the laugh lines deepen over the years after. 

Would she want children? 

He drew in a sharp breath, and placed a bookmark in the neglected tome in his hands. 

A family. 

His heart ached for the idea, for children with freckles and silver hair that smiled as she did. He swallowed against the idea, this hope, burying it, smothering it before it could take root.

Such a thing would never be possible. 

No matter how long of a reprieve he could steal, it changed nothing of what must be done. The veil was disintegrating, each world a little more bleak with every year that passed. Only two seals remained. 

And there were none, save him, who could stem the wrath of the Evanuris, should those seals be broken. Any reprieve taken was only that, a reprieve. 

It would be unconscionable to bring children into this world, only to make them face the chaos of his making. It was a legacy he could never allow, could never allow himself to yearn for.

The only legacy he would ever leave was that of dread.


	61. Twisted Way of the Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning- mention of rape, past tense. Actually just alluded to in this side.

The world went white with anger at her words. He wrapped the veil close around himself, containing what threatened to spill out in fire with each word she uttered about the shemlen who would claim his kinship, the Dread Wolf’s kinship, and do such things to Thenera. The blighted blood of titans whispered ideas, terrible dark things he did not disagree with. 

He attempted to pull back from the whispers, to steel himself against their promises, an urge he had not needed to fight in many, many years. She truly did make him feel younger, reckless and hot headed. He clamped down on his control, a battle he had often fought, and won, inch by stubborn inch.

At least he could channel his anger into the battles that lay in their path, through the caverns. He watched her. Grim. Squaring her shoulders against a weight he had not realized was placed upon them. A challenge twisted her lips in some perversion of a smile as one of the Red Templar’s battle cry called for her death. He responded with a burst of magic that left it unable to speak, gurgling as it fell to the ground. 

And then, the behemoth. 

“Everyone! Regen potion! Now!” Thenera called as she uncorked a flask and downed the contents. Each did as they were bade as the beast screamed. 

The corruption was palpable. This land was soured with the blighted lyrium, a breeding ground for hatred and rage, every ugly thing about the range of emotion amplified and spit back out. 

He didn’t need it. 

What he needed was to be rational. He drew a barrier for those closest to the thing.

Rational.

But then he caught sight of her, her face fixed in determination, radiating strength, confidence. To learn what she had been through… It swallowed him as he pulled deep into his mana and flung it at the beast. It roared and thrashed, clearly at the mercy of the song of blood and fire and blight.

The warriors flanked and harried, rolling and dodging the beast’s great claws.

He poured each new shred of anger into his staff and pushed it out and away.

His barrier went down, and he felt rather than saw the Tevine’s go up. 

Thenera, beside him, loosed arrows that cracked the crystals, pierced distended muscles, littering it with wooden shafts and fletching along with Varric and Sera, reminding him grotesquely of the small stuffed fruit that held her pins.

It let out one final, shuddering scream and fell, the death of a thousand cuts.

They destroyed the red lyrium and found the spot Harding had suggested for a camp. Blackwall and Sera hunted together while Iron Bull found firewood. Cassandra, Varric, and himself helped set up the tents, and once all returned, he set the usual wards. Thenera was quiet and loud by turns. Cole stayed near her, and she blustered about, determined not to be weak before lapsing into silence. They could see her bruised, broken, and bleeding, but they would never see her truly weak. 

She overcompensated, making crass jokes as she ate, and they let her. They let her sweep it away, let her not talk about it. Her mask was good, but not truly enough to fool him. She offered him an apologetic smile as he returned from setting up their tent, as though she knew. She ducked into privacy as it strained too far.

Cole caught his gaze and nodded, and he excused himself.

He entered the tent, and she stiffened, trying to smooth the mask back into place. She said nothing of their new arrangement, bedrolls no longer separated by scattered armor. There was no world in which he could bear to have her out of sight tonight.

“You are allowed to hurt, Vhenan.” He said. He cast a sound barrier, allowing more privacy. “I do not want you to wear armor for my sake.”

She let out a breath, another apologetic smile on her lips.

“I’m sorry. I… I knew I would tell you eventually. It’s just. A lot to bear, even if it’s not yours.”

“There is no need to apologize.” He said. She slumped, and he realized something. “That’s why you haven’t pushed.”

She smiled sadly, and his heart broke. She would not, would never. 

“Yea. I don’t think I could live with myself if I put someone else through that. Especially someone I love.” She met his gaze, just for a moment, before it dropped and she began fussing with her hair. “I’m pretty sure I could have talked you into it by now, or touched you in the right way… But I don’t want that. I only want what you enthusiastically want to share with me.” 

Of course. It was what he had been fearing for so long. Her intentions had been so clear, and yet, she had never pushed. Would never push. Even when his control snapped, she held steady, demanding he be certain. Demanding no quarter, no chance for their memories to sour. He wanted to wrap her in an embrace. To tell her how magnificent she was, that even this terrible thing had only made her more set to do the right thing. And yet… He wasn’t certain she would welcome the physical contact right now. 

“I am sorry. Is there anything I can do? Anything I should be aware of?” He asked, wanting to respect her boundaries as thoroughly as she had respected his. She deserved so much more than this horror.

“If I say no, or stop, I mean it. I will never use those words as part of play.” She replied sternly. Something that should never need to be said, except the other way around, to agree to use them as part of play. Not that some of his past lovers had agreed.

“That seems… Quite obvious. I would have done that regardless.” 

She offered him a small smile, one that said too much about how often others had shared his sentiments. A small current of rage rose, and he attempted to smother it.

“I know. One of the things I love about you.” She answered. He wanted to scream, to howl that it should not be something so rare, so precious, as to be one of the things she loved about him. It should be a given, a baseline for affection so low as to be trifling. Except that it was not. 

“Is that all? Are there no other things I need to be careful of? The last thing I want to remind you of is that.” He asked, and she sighed, lips settling into a firm line, armor rising defensively.

“Then don’t poison yourself to force me to take care of you, and don’t push for more than I’m willing to give, and we’ll be just fine.” She returned, a sharp edge, even as she attempted humor. It fell flat. She yanked the brush through her hair with more force than was strictly necessary, and he knew that she would have winced at the motion, had she been calmer.

“Very well my heart. I am sorry.”

“Stop.” She set the brush down, close to snarling. “I am not some broken, fragile thing because some asshole took advantage of my kindness. I don’t want you to tiptoe around me, or treat me any differently than you have been. It’s been over ten years. Is there anything else you want to know? I’d rather not have this conversation multiple times.”

His mouth snapped shut and he dipped his head in acknowledgement. Her face was set in grim determination, more like she was about to face down an enemy that might overpower her than him. She let out a breath and her gaze softened, absentmindedly rubbing a spot on her leg for a moment before stopping suddenly.

There were many things he wanted to ask her. He wanted to know everything, the entire story, where he could be found now, what had happened after. But the guarded pain in her mien told him it would only make it worse. So he would only ask what he couldn’t stand not knowing. What he would need to know.

“What is his name?” He asked, as calmly as he was able as the rage within him writhed, fed by blighted lyrium all around. He wondered idly if it was making her more irritable as well.

“Why?” She asked cautiously. He thought over his response, rolling it over his tongue. He wouldn’t lie to her, not if he could help it. She had been betrayed enough, and would be more.

“So that if I should come across him in my travels, I can be certain to treat him with the regard he deserves.” The festering thing inside whispered behind his words.

“Like those mages?” She asked, tone flat and expression unreadable. 

“Perhaps.”

“You know I would never ask for that.” She countered. Ah. So she struggled, even now, to wish harm on one who had harmed her so thoroughly. The dark thing in him twisted, growing more insistent. She had trusted him. She did always trust too easily. 

“And yet, I am quite certain that if any of the others told you a similar history, you would share my sentiments.”

“Well. You aren’t wrong about that.” She answered, and sighed, slumping as if defeated. Her eyes fell shut. “He chose the name Virfen when he took his Vallaslin.”

He felt as though all the air had left the tent, nearly as it had felt when he had first raised the veil. He felt ill. 

“The way of the wolf?” He managed, low and dangerous, much more than he meant to show. And… That was the legacy he had left. The legacy that had led countless terrible things to happen in his name. His jaw worked as he fought for control.

“Oh. Yea. I had actually forgotten the meaning. I mostly just call him ‘that asshole’ if I have to refer to him now.” She said, very nearly nonchalant. Attempting to comfort him, even as she hurt, though she may not know exactly why. He swallowed his rage. Later. It would not do to have her wrestling with its weight as well.

“I believe that is a disservice to assholes, Vhenan.” He stated, as much lightness as he could muster laced into the words. “Does it trouble you that I, as you put, have an affinity for wolves?”

She looked up with a smile. Defiance and comfort and hurt all lived in it.

“No. He doesn’t own them. He twisted them. I let go of that association when I forgave Fen’Harel for what that asshole did to me. His name is meaningless, just like him.” She let out a mirthless huff of a laugh. “Except for the fact that it’s been over ten years and I still remember his name at all. And all the ways he twisted me. At least the nightmares have mostly stopped.”

The thing in him coiled, stomach churning with far too many emotions for this world. How had he not seen? There was so much beneath the surface, so much that poise and inappropriate jokes covered. He suddenly understood how others had found her to be too much. She was a glittering jewel, impossible to shine light on every facet at once. 

“You have not been twisted, Thenera. You are still you, still the woman that shows compassion at every turn, who will protect those dear to her at her own cost.” 

She swallowed, eyes shining too bright.

“It’s harder for me to let people in now.” She admitted. “There’s always a part of me that’s waiting to be betrayed, so I just… Don’t let anyone in. I try to, I make it most of the way there… But there’s a part of me that’s just inaccessible.”

She looked towards the canvas ceiling above them, and closed her eyes, willing the tears to subside before they fell, and he felt her words pierce his heart. He would do nothing to prove her wrong. Could do nothing to prove her wrong. To even be here, now, was a betrayal to her, even as she pulled him closer. He swallowed, and she met his gaze again.

“I know the feeling well.” He said quietly.

“I’m sorry.” She said. Again, she tried to comfort him in her pain. 

“As am I.” He said, moving closer, attempting a reassuring smile. “I am, however, glad to know this part of you.”

“I’m glad you know, too.” Her mouth tilted up, and she sagged as the tension seemed to evaporate from her. She moved closer, closing the distance, and he opened his arms to welcome her, grateful to finally offer the comfort he had wished for since her confession in front of an altar to him. She collapsed against him, and he braced himself against the weight of her trust.

“I trust these sleeping arrangements are amenable to you?”

“Much better.” She murmured, latter half becoming unintelligible as she stifled a yawn. He pushed aside his guilt, his remorse, his sadness for things to come. She needed him, and he could, at the very least, give her this. 

“Ar lath, ma Vhenan.”

“Ar lath, ma’fen.” She returned, suddenly half asleep and losing coherence. He gripped her carefully and laid down, her head against his chest, one hand covering hers that lay over his heart. He kissed her hair.

“Solas?” She asked, slurring through sleep.

“Yes?”

“When do you think I’m prettiest?” Her voice was small, fragile. Her armor was gone, barrier stripped. He did not know why this question, of all the others, was so poignant.

“When you throw your shoulders back against forces much larger than you. When you are kind to those who need help. When you smile, whether it wicked or defiant or wry or soft.” He paused, kissing her hair again, strands of silver soft against his lips. “Though I will confess, I have a weakness for the last, for the smile you only seem to cast to me. Why?’

She nuzzled closer to him.

“Because he always thought I was prettiest when I was crying.”

Her words destroyed his train of thought. Oh yes, he would find and kill this man. He would show him Dread. 

His arms tightened around Thenera. He would tear this world to shreds for her. If only that was what she wanted.

“I am quite glad you broke his nose.” He admitted, and she snorted in laughter.

“Me too, thank you.” She said, a smile in her voice before she yawned again, and drifted away from him, into dreams far from the Fade where he could not follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay this part is over! Back to better topics.


	62. Felandaris

The dwarf had finally put together some of the pieces, after the confrontation with the Forbidden one that ran the lyrium mining operation. How he had learned of the cold aiding the growth of the blighted blood, he could only wager a guess. Andruil. Her experiments in that very keep had turned his stomach when he had first discovered them. He was unsure how Imshael could have obtained the knowledge of that particular experiment, but it seemed the only logical conclusion.

He was grateful the creature had been focused on Thenera. Far too focused to pay him much mind. He had guarded his thoughts carefully through their exchange, through the subsequent battle, until he fell.

Suledin Keep.

It was hers now. 

Like so much that had once been his. Terasyl’an tel’as, his heart, and now this place. Once the center of a thriving alliance. Once a retreat, a place where his relationship with Andruil and Ghilan'nain had come to a head. He felt restless, as though his past pressed against him, the memory he had shared with Wisdom a weight.

And now Master Tethras knew of his dream’s dreams. 

He walked the keep, feeling the memories brush against him, even here in the waking. Felandaris grew in the corners, struggling through ancient stone, and he harvested what he could, should Thenera wish to experience more of the Fade. 

There was a strange sense-both a wonder at how much had survived, and a sadness for all that had been lost. The sharp features of Andruil’s archers had worn away to pitted stone, broken corners dusted with snow. He recalled the twining arches and crystalline floors that had once spanned the hall, cut crystal above casting dazzling rainbows that revealed hidden passages at the proper time of day. The main keep had been cleared of all things Elvhen, replaced with shemlen statuary that paled compared to how fine the others had once been, painted with magic to almost breathe. Once, every hair on each carven wolf had been visible, the Hart figures enchanted to change to halla that whickered and danced gracefully, following the path of Ghilan’nain’s creation. Andruil’s owls were once messengers in truth, who would spread stone wings and fly wherever needed.

Once a feat of grace and beauty, and then of fear. Observing all for their master as she twisted. It had taken some getting used to, when he had first woken, to seeing their remains dotted everywhere, still discernible, but now silent, stone eyes unseeing. 

Still, he felt them on him, watching as he brushed snow from the herbs he collected, Felandaris still growing somehow, struggling through the frost.

The veil must truly be thin here. 

He reached out for it, feeling the whisper of the beyond against his skin. He wondered, fondly, if Thenera could feel it, brushing against her as a caress. His dream, who wished so much to share his connection to the Fade, to meet spirits and delight in its possibilities. Perhaps he could show her someday. Perhaps she would be sensitive enough to feel it against her skin.

Not for the first time, he wondered where exactly her dreams took her. If, perhaps, they were in the Void? But that would not make sense with her abilities, and it seemed, perhaps, it was somewhere new, somewhere he did not know of. What would happen to that place when he removed the veil? Would she be sundered from it? Would it continue to exist, an anomaly just for her? Were there others like her?

Too many questions. Too many which might lead to more if answered. She may not even know the answer to them, and he wished there was some way to follow her, some way to see as she did. 

If it was not the Fade, was it somewhere the children of Stone could go? He looked up, seeing a pair of statues, wolves reclining, flanking a space that once held an Eluvian. 

So much lost. 

And yet, Felassan had been right.

He felt a pang. Another guilt to add to his pile, to his mountain of regret, and he felt disgusted by himself.

He had been so certain. So certain they were not and could not truly be people, sundered as they were. His old friend had betrayed him, betrayed the People, by seeing them as such. He had thought it impossible.

And now there was her, and he was forced to admit the truth. He had been right. Felassan had been right, and he had killed his friend for nothing.

He only wished it changed anything.


	63. Revolution

Thenera thankfully avoided the place in the plains where Wisdom had passed. Still, each step in the scarred lands reminded him of that mad flight, of the hopelessness of inevitability surrounded by smoke and shemlen and undead. It was good there was fighting, a way to release the anger that festered, a release he had foregone for years beyond measure as he could do nothing but watch tragedy after tragedy unfold. 

Adrenaline sang on red wings, power twisting and releasing through his staff as they took the Citadelle. 

Thenera could not know the history of this place, could not know that it had once belonged to Mythal. Her retreat, with defenses as a precaution. He had wept the day they had pulled her statues down, had crumbled them into dust. And then he had begun to enact his plan.

The roaring tornado of magic was impressive for this age, though it had been relatively minor when it was first erected. The only ones who had truly posed a threat to Mythal were the ones she had never expected such betrayal from.

They cleared it with ease, freeing the soldiers trapped there, and he set his face in steel. There were too many memories in this place, too much sadness, and to see it so far from what it had once been, what it should be, hurt. 

He wished there was time to sleep, to explore the Fade, to see this place once again in its full splendor. 

To see Mythal as she should be, and not only the shadow that remained, twisted to vengeance. 

Of course, there were no longer many of their people to protect who still walked the earth. The veil had taken so much, ripped away so much, sundering a piece of self and locking it behind a wall of his making. 

As if Thenera knew the path of his thoughts, she led him to Ghilan'nain’s grove to make camp. Mist clung to the ground as spirits pressed against his skin, eager to give his memories form. 

They ate the gurgut they had killed, spiced and flavored so they all needed extra water with the meal. Blackwall looked after the horses as was usual, and the conversation around the fire was lively and loud, a cacophony of noise and laughter that lightened the weight of this place.

“I don’t understand. The food hurts, but you eat it anyways. Sharp, burning, your eyes fill with tears. Why do you like it?” Cole asked, mid meal.

“Sometimes a little pain makes everything else sweeter.” The Qunari replied, winking at Thenera. She raised a brow and continued eating in silence.

She was quiet, contemplative. The difficulty of Emprise had not left her, and it was disquieting to see her so somber. He coaxed her to their tent early, so rest might restore some of her cheer, and ran fingers through her hair, carefully, allowing calm to seep into his actions that they might sleep soon.

“Do you know what they were like?” She asked, curiosity for the beings her people worshipped as gods clear. He paused in his ministrations. He knew far too much. Information he had tried to share with the Dalish again and again, only to be scoffed at or outright attacked. Thenera was different, yes, but just how different was she, truly? She loved her people, that much was clear. The sad perversion of what should have been, clinging to old stones and fragments of mirrors long dead.

“Some, yes. They reigned for thousands of years, and personalities do shift in that time. I have seen many wondrous things, and many terrible in the memories of the Fade. Do you truly wish to know?” He asked softly. A thrill worked through him at the thought of her asking about him, about the Dread Wolf, and what he could tell her. What he would want to tell her.

“Vhenan. I will never ask you a question I don’t want to know the answer to. I won’t flinch from the truth. I want to know both; the good and the bad.” She answered. His mind was a buzz off possibilities, and he took up the brush to begin working it through her silvery hair, a few inches at a time. She meant her words, had always meant her words. He swallowed behind her, releasing some of the wall that he had erected over his thoughts throughout the day. 

“Mythal was the best of them. It is fitting you wear her marks, if you must wear Vallaslin. She was a protective mother. A fierce and stalwart defender, a beacon of creation, and guidance. Over the years, protection turned to vengeance and the fire of creation to ash. Her wisdom no longer freely given, begrudging acceptance of worship turned to expectation, then demand. And still, she was the best of them.”

He kept his voice steady, strong. It would not do to let it crack, to let her see just how much this simple truth affected him. It had happened so long ago to feel so close to him, the weight of the memory pressing against him, her blood on his hands as oppressive as the red Lyrium spreading through the veins of the earth now.

“I can see how that would happen over time. Power corrupts. It always has, and maybe it always will.” She stated simply. Stated as though she was not one of the most powerful people in Thedas, of this time. 

“And what will you do to keep it from corrupting you?” He asked her, finishing the work on her fine strands and setting the brush aside. She turned to face him, humming her thanks with a nod before settling her expression into a resolved half smile.

“Disband the Inquisition when we’re done, and all the rifts are sealed. Go back to my clan. See if I can salvage some happiness out of my life.” She shrugged. “See if they’ll even have me back, or if I’ll fit in again.”

She would so easily disband the Inquisition? Something she had said months ago felt like home to her? Would she give up her claim to Terasyl’an Te’las as well? And after all of this, she would return to her clan. Had she not even considered a future with him? The pang that hit was deeper than expected. She had not. She did not see the possibility of them together after this, unless she foolishly expected him to join a Dalish clan. Perhaps that was why she might not be welcome back.

“Why would you not? And why would they not accept you now?” He asked, half hopeful, before he remembered. She would try to salvage some happiness out of her life. Which meant she did not expect him to be there. He hid the hurt that rose, a ferocious hope he had not known had grown so far, quashed. 

“I’m now the Herald of Andraste, Inquisitor, leader of a shemlen organization that is many many times larger than my clan. All of that they could move past, though they would be skeptical of my position. But there’s one more thing I’ve seen that might change that. Which… It doesn’t even matter if _I_ don’t fit anymore. I’ve changed. This journey has changed me and will continue to. I’m not the Dalish woman whose most exciting adventures were crazy liaisons anymore. I’m… Bigger. I take up more space.”

Her words skimmed his brain, and it took a moment for them to sink in against his disappointment. One more thing that might change that? That echoed, clamoring for an explanation, and he could not help the tiny root of hope that lived on.

“I see. And what is it to come that might change that, if I may ask?”

“I can’t tell you yet.” She answered with a small smile. It did not reach her eyes, but not many had in the last several days. It waned, straining into something painful, and fell from her face. He wished he could know what it was she saw, wished he could ease this burden she had to carry alone. Like so much of the Inquisition. 

“Or maybe.. I’ll just be evil. Let the power run its course. Plan to destroy the world, the usual. I’d have enough to dismantle the human power structure after this. _I_ might not be salvageable after getting my hands that dirty, but it would be something I could be proud of accomplishing.”

“You would do such a thing?” The words tumbled from his lips, surprise drawing them forth before he could give them much thought. She would, he knew. She would sacrifice herself, her very soul, to accomplish what she believed necessary. She returned a mirthless smile.

“Our people have been subjugated since Arlathan fell. I’m not sure there’s a way to fix it without a lot of bloodshed. A lot of entrenched power structures would need to be forcibly destroyed. I would lose a lot of support, but I would gain a lot in other areas.” She said it calmly, as though it was a matter of course and not a bloody revolution she spoke of. Such things were not possible without blood, and by the look on her face, she knew it. What a fierce creature she was. And not wrong. He looked at her and saw the woman who made empires tremble, who would have become a god in her own right in the days of old. The Inquisitor.

She had the power of Empresses and Queens. More, because she was an elf on common footing. The Empress might fall for taking an Elven lover, the King of Fereldan might be forced to kill his Elven lover. The Inquisitor never would. She was free to act in a way that none others were. Even Briala, who Felassan had championed, was still bound by the constraints of her station, and the expectations of others. 

“Is this something you’ve seen?” He asked, unable to keep the quiet hope and the pain it was woven into from his voice.

“No. My dreams have never allowed me to veer so far from the path.” She answered simply. A matter of course. A path to walk that could be walked by any of many, if her words were to be believed. And yet, it was hers. The stolen power that belonged to him, woven through her very being as though she could bear its weight. A weight that was never meant for her. Much like the revolution she spoke of.

“And what would you do if you succeed? What system would you replace the current with?” He asked. It was always the way of things. This age called for action, more than any of those that had come since the time of Andraste. It was only a matter of who would answer that call. He gazed at her, a shining beacon. Shoulders strong as she bore the weight of her world. The weight of his mistakes and others.

“I don’t know yet. But if you have any ideas, I’m all ears.” She answered, quirking a brow at him and wiggling one ear in his direction. Suddenly, the glamour broke, and it was Thenera, soft and boisterous and thoughtful before him, instead of the Inquisitor, ready to start a revolution for what she had called their people. He could not help the chuckle that left him.

Perhaps Varric’s nickname was a good one.


End file.
